Complex Christmas and An Inspiring Story

Jayci at her grandfather's grave. Source

This morning I was watching the news and saw a feature about a young girl - 14 years old - who is working hard to achieve a very special Christmas goal. Her wish, is to put a wreath on every single grave at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery here in San Antonio, TX. To date, there are over 144,000 graves of fallen soldiers buried here. To say it is a big goal is an understatement. They have yet to reach that goal in a single year, but she is relentless. Partnered now with Wreaths Across America, she does 15 or 20 speaking engagements and fund raisers around the San Antonio, TX area in the fall to help raise money and bring in volunteers for this massive effort. The focus and resolve are nothing short of incredible to watch - particularly in someone so young.

I could not help but be completely inspired by the boldness and determination of her spirit. It allowed me to put my own pain aside for a moment and think about just how many ways on any given day there are to do something to remember or appreciate those who have died - whether as soldiers or otherwise.

It is one of those things that my fiance's death has changed in me for the better. Now I know first-hand what it means to the loved ones of the fallen for them to be remembered. My fiancé was not in the military - though he wanted nothing more than to do so, a back injury prevented him from being allowed to enlist. Regardless of that, I still know what it feels like when someone does something to show me they remember him - like leaving something at his grave, or sharing a memory, or donating in his honor. It means more than words can describe. You all get that.

I've been stuck in my own pain this past week - stuck thinking about how I'm sick of Christmas and ready for all this holiday mess to be over with. Year three without him is no better. Less scary for sure, less traumatic, but still I am able to muster only apathy for the entire affair. Even though I will be deeply happy to spend Christmas with his family - whom is now very much my own family - all the time leading up to that day is just an assault on the emotions. People talking about nothing but how behind they are on getting presents for everyone… when all you're thinking as you hear them is how lucky they are to still have all of their people in tact to give presents to.

I hate this. I want to be able to enjoy the season. I want to be able to just enjoy things the way other people do again. I want a simple holiday season where all I'm worried about is getting the Christmas shopping done and making sure food is cooked. But it is so far from my reality - Complex Christmas.

That's is why I am so glad I caught this feature on tv this morning though. This story about the wreaths got me out of my own pain and woke me up to the possibility that - if I pay attention and look for it - there are ways that I could use the holiday season to help me find meaning. If I make USE of Christmas as a way to connect to other folks who are enduring a complex Christmas - whether due to death, illness, financial strains, etc - maybe I could reclaim a bit of the good in this season. Maybe I could actually be able to find more than apathy in this time of year again.

There are all kinds of ways to do this… and even though it won't bring him back or make Christmas simple like it used to be, it would feel good, and make others feel good who might really need it too. That part of it I can get behind. I know that's not rocket science, but I think you get it. We get stuck in our heads so easily in the midst of grief and trauma. We have blinders on much of the time. And it can be hard see anything that can help it.

Today, I'm really grateful that a young girl doing big things helped me to take the blinders off for a while and begin to think about what I can do in the next few days that could bring meaning back to Christmas - not only for me, but for someone else. We'll see what I come up with.

To donate or find information about Jayci's Wreaths for Heroes project, you can visit her Facebook page.

The Strength Among Women.

Source

The above picture is a specific shot of the Sex and the City girls that my girlfriends and I send to each other when we miss each other or just need a smile. It is - like the show is for us - a reminder that thru thick and thin, life and love and illness and death, it is your girls who were there for you. I'm sharing it because I was reminded of that tonight.

On this pre-Easter evening, I would like to say,  I really hate being vulnerable. I mean, doesn't everyone? It's definitely not the best feeling out there. Tonight, I felt so completely vulnerable. It's the evening before Easter - my in-laws are having a big party at the ranch. We are grilling and cooking up a ton of good food. I spend the whole day in the kitchen with my mother-in-law… partly because I really enjoy helping her out on these kinds of days and partly because just keeping busy with helping keeps my mind off the obvious person missing. So really, for the most part, I made it through the day alright. I made this amazing lemon-lime bundt cake that was "to die for" (I always feel odd saying that now). But the sadness was underlying. And eventually after dinner and several beers… the flood gates opened. Everyone was out back playing ping pong - I could hear them loudly cheering and laughing over the game and the country music. Laughter. That kind… you know, the kind we used to all enjoy? Yeah.

I snuck out to sit on the front porch. Alone. Crying in my beer. And looking at pictures of my fiancé and I on my phone. And crying some more. And wishing that someone would notice right away when I wasn't there, and would come to check on me. The way he used to when I needed it most. Wishing I was the center of anyone's universe like that again. Or that someone would just happen to come outside and notice me there and sit down beside me to be my friend. But no one came… except one person who walked right past, ignoring me. Which as you know, feels even worse than no one coming at all. And so I sat there more and more alone - just me, the glow of the porch light, and the june bugs occasionally thwacking into my back. I cursed aloud to… what? Someone. Something. My life. My stupid emotions. Him being gone. My pathetic desire to have someone rescue me. All of the above.

Eventually… I texted a few of my girlfriends. My best friend. And one of my also-widowed girlfriends. And my old high school girlfriend. It turned out we were all having pretty emotional nights for entirely different reasons. My best friend has just found out that this guy she really likes who she's been on several dates with is still hung up on an ex. My high school friend is pretty sad because her best friend just moved really far away, she just broke up with her boyfriend, and she had to move back in with her parents to boot. I really wish none of us had been going through any of that crap tonight… but you know, it helped to know I wasn't alone. Even though their situations were very different, that didn't matter. Tonight… each one of us was in need of someone to be there for us and console us and love us. Each of us wanted that someone to be a man, and each of us didn't have that. So we turned to each other. And we found exactly what we needed in each other. Love. And support. And understanding. And a warm welcome that will always be there. And a powerful "I've got your back, you are amazing and don't forget it" sort of feeling that we all needed.

I didn't used to be very close to any of my girlfriends. Many years ago, I had a really hard time connecting with women and I kept my distance from them for the most part. Losing my fiancé has changed that world so entirely for me. I have come to rely on the women in my life in such a deep and powerful way. No matter what our situations or differences… when we are in pain, and we share that with each other, there is a sacred bond of holding each other up that occurs. Its like this unspoken code that all women seem to abide by. And it only occurs when we take the risk to be fully vulnerable with each other.

For the past month or so, I've been resisting taking that risk. It's so easy to do… to try and avoid being truly vulnerable - even with my closest girlfriends - because I just don't want to face it sometimes. But this week as I've had a few instances of both myself and my girlfriends hitting low points and really needing each other… I am reminded again how important, how powerful, and how healing it is to just let it all out to each other. Sure it felt better to let that out with Drew. More comfortable. More secure. But there is something equally powerful about baring your soul to other women. Something that I have never experienced until losing him.

I'm not even sure where I'm going with all this. Honestly, it's late, I've been on my feet all day cooking, and super stressed about a million other things, and I'm on my 5th or 6th beer (the fact that I can't remember which tells you something!). All I can say is that tonight, I am so incredibly grateful for the women in my life. The ones who are widows. The ones who are not widows who still seem to get it. The ones who are older and wiser and help guide me, and the ones who are right in the thick of it with me. I truly do not know what state I would be in today without each and every woman who has crossed my path since losing Drew. They, you, are the safety net that keeps me afloat. The wind beneath my wings. And the fuel that keeps me trying to make something big and bold and powerful out of all of this pain. We may not have the lives we want, but dammit, at least we have each other. And really, that's a hell of a lot.

Ho, Ho .......

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...... Humbug.

This post is for all of you who are more than relieved that Christmas Day is done.  Over.  Finished.  For 364 more days.

I hope that you experienced what I usually experience:  the actual day that I dread goes a lot smoother than I expect.  The days leading up to it and all of the stress in those days seem to build and build ...... until the day actually arrives.

And then I find that it's over sooner than I expected.

I survived another "big day" ...... and it actually was easier than I anticipated.

December is hard.

There's no doubt about it.  This month is full of all kinds of land mines.  And that's for basically anyone.

Add a widowed person into the mix and you've got 31 days of potential nuclear carnage.

And then there's the extra oh-so-lucky "club" members who's "death day" just happens to fall somewhere in this month.

We'd prefer to just sleep through the holidays, thank you very much.

But here it is, December 26th ...... we made it through another difficult day.

Even though some of us are a little pissed that the Mayans were wrong and we're still here.

We cried our fair share of tears.  And then some.

Our hearts ached for who wasn't there.

But we're still here.

We survived.

And though you may not believe this, and don't like hearing it from "non-members" ...... you are stronger than you think you are.  You can't help it ...... it just happens.  You survive another day ...... you wake up stronger the next.  You may not feel that strength, but it's there. It grows quietly and slowly.  So slowly that it's imperceptible.  Until one day, further down the road.  On that day you'll glance behind you ...... and see how far you've come.  You'll be surprised by the distance.  

And you'll be surprised at the number of people behind you ...... who watch you with hope.

Until that day, just breathe and keep putting one foot in front of the other.  And know that the days leading up to the "hard days" ...... are usually worse than that day itself. 

You've just made it through a pretty difficult one.  So get some rest.  

You deserve it.

And you'll need it ...... because we have another one next week.

Two holidays in one week.

Ho, ho ...... humbug.

Damnit.  

And So The Month ......

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...... is marching on.  Swiftly.
I can't believe today is the 12th.
The 18th will be upon me in the blink of an eye.

But, interestingly enough, this year has been different.
So far.
And that's all I'm going by.
So far.

It's not that I haven't shed some tears.  I have.
It's difficult not to.
What with all of the romantic movies on, the Christmas specials, the Christmas "family" commercials, all of the things that so loudly point out that my family isn't "perfect".
Not that it ever was, but you ALL know what I mean.

It's not the same.
It won't ever be the same.
And I still hate that.

But this month, these days of the Death March, haven't been dragging me down like they usually do.  I don't even have that thought in my head every day.  And that's TOTALLY weird.
And wonderful.
And a relief.
A very huge relief.

It doesn't feel as if my body is remembering as much as it has before.  My body seems to be letting go of the annual march.
Or at least I think it is.
The 18th isn't here yet.
Neither is Christmas.
Or New Year's Eve.

But at least this New Year's Eve I have a totally different plan.
Thank God.

OSU is playing in a bowl game on January 1st.
In Dallas.
So Son #3, Son #1 (since he lives there) and I are going to the game.
Thank.
You.
God.

Maybe it's been different this year because the month started off on such a fun high.
Being in NYC with wonderful friends and finally deciding that, yes, I do want to live there.
At least part of the year (less than 186 days, half the year ...... or the city and state of NY will kick my butt in taxes).
It's given me something to focus on, to plan for.
Something that had, and has, nothing to do with Jim.
Other than the fact that I wouldn't be doing this if he were alive.

Maybe it's different because it's time for it to be different.
Maybe.
I hope that's what it is.
Time.

Being different doesn't mean that I miss him less.
Or I think of him less.
Or love him less.
It just means that these days hurt me less.
And I'm all for less hurt.

I still cry.
I still cry as I write this kind of stuff.
I still cry when I say, or think, "I miss him".
I think that thought, those words, will always make me cry.

And I still cry when I see movies or read books that remind me in any way of him ....... of losing him.
Like "Lincoln".
Boy, did I cry.
As soon as Lincoln put on his coat to go to the theatre, turned to the few men closest to him and said, "I guess it's time for me to go.  But I wish I could stay here."
Oh.
My.
Lord.
I lost it.
And still lose it when I think about that scene.

Because I can imagine Jim saying that, instead of "I'll see you later."
I can imagine, that had he known he'd never wake up from that surgery, he would've said, "I guess it's time for me to go.  But I wish I could stay here."

I wish it for him.
I wished it for Mary Lincoln, as I wept for her, too.
I wished it for all of us.

Wishes.
Sometimes ..... a waste of time.
But sometimes ...... nice.

So anyway, it was a very good movie.
Very good.
Even if it made me a mess.

But at least I'm not as much of a mess as I've been the last 4 years.
Not yet.
Hopefully not at all.

Here's to hope.
:)