a list.

otherwise perfect, this

moment became something

wholly unexpected

when the words

drifted from her lips.

well, i shouldn't say

that it was

wholly unexpected, but the

timing most certainly was.

the question brought

me back in a

way that usually only my

memory can.

"remember what we talked about that one time?"

that's what changed

the moment.

and that's not exactly

what she said, but

it's a close enough approximation.

"yeah," i said.

"when do you want to do it?"

"i don't know. when do you think i should do it?"

"anytime between now and whenever."

again, that's not exactly

what she said

but it's not the

exact words that matter.

"soon," i said.

"i want to know, you know, just to be sure."

her eyes nodded

and she disappeared from

the room,

off to check her

notes from

that first time.

while she was gone

i felt as alone

as i did that other

moment back then,

but not because i

was the only one

in the room.

my thoughts didn't

allow for anyone

else at that

moment, and for that

i'm sorry to both

of them,

one looking in

the mirror, unaware,

the other with

her hand in mine,

causing slight physical pain

in an attempt

to relieve something worse.

but it's as if

i wasn't there.

i was above my world,

(them)

floating on my

back, the cool mist

of the clouds

enveloping the me that

wasn't me.

seconds later

the door opened,

and she was peering in,

holding what she

went to get.

i hit the ground

with a thud,

but nothing was

broken. of course not,

i reminded myself.

i wasn't really where

i felt i was.

in my hand now.

it's the list.

the list of words

i'd seen before,

this time

on a different

piece of paper,

in a handwriting unusual

for someone in

her profession

(or so the stereotype goes).

i stared at it.

two thoughts:

1. this list has killed.

2. this list could **** again.

(that exactly how i said it in my head. that word doesn't exist in scenario #2. it can't. it won't).

i know it's

better to know,

but do you ever

wish you didn't know?

yeah.

me too.

There Will Always Be ....

.... set backs. 
I know that's a given.
Life is full of set backs.
Everyone's life, not just mine.
Or yours.

So why is it then, that when I am hit with one of them .... I'm surprised?
Last week was a set back.
One huge, hairy set back.
It started the moment I arrived home from a trip and continued on through Sunday (and is even bleeding a little bit into this week).
I'm sure that jet lag and exhaustion had something to do with it .... and with the way I encountered things.

One such event was meeting a complete stranger.  As we spoke we realized that our husbands may have known each other.  She asked what my husband did now and I told her that he died almost 3 years ago.
Stranger:  "Of what?"
Me:  "An aortic dissection."
Stranger:  ...... a slight pause and then ..... "Well, at least he didn't have something that made him linger on and on.  I would hate to die like that.  When my parents ....."

She kept speaking but I quit listening.
I was stunned (and how ironic since I had just re-posted "The Things I Didn't Need to Hear").
I wasn't stunned as much by the fact that she said it.  I'm used to idiotic sentences.
I was stunned that such a statement still had the ability to take my breath away.
Still.
I had to bite my tongue to keep from yelling at her, "FORTY SEVEN!!!  He was ONLY 47, so NO, I'm not THRILLED that he didn't linger!"
She continued to talk while I stared off into space, trying not to let the tears fall from behind my sunglasses.


There will always be people who say stupid things about Jim being dead .... and there may always be times when they hit me in the gut.

A couple of days later I was shopping at Target (not a promo here, but that store IS my retail "crack").
I ran into a friend that Jim and I had known for years and years.  We met their family at our church back in Oklahoma and they were a part of our close-knit group.
This family had moved to Texas years ago, into our community, but had since moved out.  It was just sheer coincidence that we happened to be at the same Target.
She caught me up with her family and I caught her up with mine.
As she talked, I started to think .... "Wait until Jim hears ....." before I remembered.  It was only a second, a nano second, really, but it still happened. 
I thought of him first.
As I drove away from the store I started to cry.  Jim was the only connection I had to this friend in my life here.  He was the only other person who knew her and knew our histories together.
And he's dead.
I had no one with whom to share the news of seeing her.
No one who would be interested in what her husband is now doing.
I cried all the way home as I thought about how much I've missed sharing with him.
I cry now as I type this, thinking of how much I miss him.

There will always be moments that will come .... and I'll wish that he were here to share them with me.
There will always be tears when I stop to think how very much I miss him.

There will always be crappy moments, or days or even weeks.
Yes, they get fewer and farther between.
And the tears start getting less gut-wrenching.
But I'm sure that there will always be tears.

Just as there will always be love.
The love he gave me can never be forgotten or lost.
Not while my children or I am alive.
There will always be an impact he made on someone or something.
There will always be joy .... that I had him for as long as I did.

I guess that's one thing we can count on in life.

There will always be ....

Five Years Ago Today

As a young teen, my husband Daniel traveled on Amtrak to St. Louis Missouri with his parents and five siblings. When he spoke of this trip many years later, his fondest memories were of staying up all night in the sleeper car rocking to the rhythmic movements of the train, watching the Texas landscape flash by, playing Gin Rummy as the train clicked along, and trying to pick up girls with his older brother in the various cars. He remembered that trip as one of the greatest of his childhood, and he looked forward to the day when he could share the magic of traveling by train with his own children.

We’d been married 12 years, and had a four year old son, when Daniel was first diagnosed with throat cancer. A year later, with radiation therapy and a life altering surgery behind him, Daniel received his 3rd cancer diagnosis--and the prognosis was not good. As a consequence of the urgent need for surgery immediately following his second recurrence of cancer, we postponed a birthday trip we planned for our son Grayson. The revised itinerary scheduled us to head out by train for a trip to Disney Land the week after we got the third bout of grim news regarding Daniel's condition. The discovery of new cancerous cells meant we needed to make a choice; postpone the family trip once again and schedule further tests at MD Anderson immediately, or hop on the train and set-up the additional tests for when we returned from California. Daniel's desire to create life-long memories with his family, combined with the outside chance that we might be looking at our last chance to take this trip, made the decision for us--we went for it.

Amtrak goes from Austin to LA, and we booked a sleeper car for the trip. As the time to leave home neared, the thrill of taking the train out shined even our excitement about our theme park destination. The anticipation of stepping onto that platform, and beginning our journey, eased the fear and uncertainty of what lay ahead for our family. Daniel was so excited to share this experience with Grayson and me.

Due to an accident that delayed our train, we waited for hours at the station near Cesar Chavez. We made the best of it and hung in there, worried that if we left for even a few minutes we’d miss the train. Our patience paid off, and we gleefully boarded the train at 3:30AM. The three of us loaded into our cabin, which was the wide one at the very back of the train. The trip to San Antonio was quick. We were still awake when we passed through South Austin and within a block of our house in old downtown Buda-- we were all so excited to be on the train that sleep was unnecessary. The adrenaline was flowing and we were on our way!

I’ll never forget seeing the “back side” of so many different places in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California. The views of West Texas, especially the Pecos River, were breathtaking. Despite the pain that was becoming a part of everyday life, Daniel enjoyed every second of that trip. The absolute joy on Grayson's face expressed exactly the hopes Daniel held close to his heart for his only son. Grayson was in love with everything about the train: the rocking, the loud bangs, the sweet staff in the dining car who fussed over him, the bunk beds he called home for two days, and most of all the spectacular views through our picture window. Our little boy was under the spell of the wonder of rail travel.

We began that trip 5 years ago today, and Daniel passed away one month later. The memories created while we rode down the tracks as a family are indelibly imprinted on our hearts. I am forever grateful that Daniel and I were able to share that experience with our son. That trip on Amtrak will always hold a very special meaning for us, and the sound of the train flying by is always a reminder of an absolutely unforgettable and treasured experience. Grayson, now 10 years old, remembers this trip as his favorite vacation--outranking England, Lego Land, Fiesta Texas, and a Caribbean cruise. When packing to leave for a trip, Daniel's son doesn’t care about the destination; he just wants to know if we can take the train to get there.

I Didn't Cry

When I first was able to entertain the thought of marrying again, I was certain that I would fall to pieces when asked to utter the phrase, "till death do us part." Those four words mean something completely different now that I know what parting actually feels like. In fact, I often teared up when discussing my fear of this phrase with Michelle...before there was any threat of actually having to say it! So as my wedding to Michael approached, I was nervous about the vows section of our ceremony. Would I be able to speak?



As with so many other milestones on this widow journey, I was surprised to discover that the lead up to the ceremony was much more nervewracking than the actual moment. I found myself overcome with joy that Michael and I made it. Together we allowed grief to coexist with love, though the concept may not make sense to many other people. He didn't require me to walk away from my widowhood in order to become his wife. With the assurance that my love for Phil was safe, my love for Michael found room to grow.



This love includes my kids, my family, my friends both old and new, and my widowed community. Finding someone who could embrace every part of my life is a blessing I experience with awe, and instead of crying all I could do was smile.



But, I will share a secret with you. When Michael and I finally laid down at the end of a wonderful evening full of love, laughter, and friendship...I cried and cried. When he asked me what was wrong I said, "I don't think I believed until right this minute that this day would actually come." I explained to him that I feel like I held my breath for the two years we dated, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He kissed me on the head and said, "Don't worry, both my shoes are still on." ;)


I write this today being able to very clearly recall saying the words, "No one will ever measure up to Phil." The journey that has led me to the place I am today has been equal parts terrifying and amazing. This post is not intended to imply that being married again will wipe away all the pain of loss. Nor do I believe that marrying again is somehow mandatory as proof of healing. I just wanted to share with you my reality, which is that I don't have to trade in one love for another...I can have both.

Normal

I have nothing to write.
I had a completely relaxing day.
I dropped Langston off at school for his game
and on the way home
I cried so hard I had to pull over.
Art's death is just so fundamentally sad.
All that he is missing is just tragic!
And yet...
I returned later, and watched Langston play flag football.
I took my other two to play dates.
I took care of myself.
Watched two movies
Flirted with a guy via email
and then went to two neighbors houses
had drinks and laughs.

Kids are now in bed.
All part of a normal day.

I think about him every day.
Every single day
and yet
it doesn't stop me from living
It doesn't interfere with my rising from the ashes
....or flirting.

This is the new normal is
And I'm OK with it.

Once In A Lifetime

“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.”

- Mark Jenkins

It's that time of year.

That time where I'm able to fulfill one of the biggest dreams Michael and I had.

To travel across the world.

I vowed after he died that I would take a once-in-a-lifetime trip once a year. The first being a 220 plus mile backpacking pilgrimage across Spain. The second was in Ireland. And this yearI will be hopping around the UK (London/Lake District).

They are 7 to 20 days where I am able to experience and see things we could have only once dreamed of. I experience them for both of us, which in return makes the time doubly amazing. The cherry on the top though, is having been able to experience these adventures with my fellow widows. Women I met due to tragedy, befriended due to commonality, and had by my side for this new chapter due to extreme luck (and hopefully a little help from Michael).

Greece, India, Africa, New Zealend...and the list goes on with future endeavors. A time to live to the fullest with my husband (invisibly) by my side, and the women who are my group of Indiana Jones....ready to explore new terrain, physically and emotionally.

As my own life has evolved, not only do I have these yearly excursions to look forward to, but I have a time of reflection to see how far I've gone....in miles and in healing. I look forward to it. Something I once loathed even saying...the future. And these trips are the perfect time once a year to commemorate my once in a lifetime life.

Below are photos of special ways I've incorporated my love into my adventures.

wishing it were

Photo by Tom Grey

My daughter, Liv, has always loved stories. Stories of mythical creatures and the lessons these myths hold seem to entice her imagination into applying these learning experiences upon her life.

Awhile back, for movie night, the kids and I watched ""The Secret of Roane Inish". After learning of the legend of the Selkies, Liv was truly enraptured and enthralled.

"The seas around Orkney and Shetland harbour the shy Selkies or Seal-Faeries (known as the Roane in Ireland). A female Selkie is able to discard her seal skin and come ashore as a beautiful maiden. If a human can capture His skin, the selkie can be forced to become a fine, if wistful, wife. However, should she ever find her skin she immediately returns to the sea, leaving the husband to pine and die. The males raise storms and upturn boats to avenge the indicriminate slaughter of the seals." -- Brian Froud and Alan Lee, "Faeries"

Liv has decided that her father was a Selkie. That the pull for the sea was too much for him and he had to return to his home....Leaving us behind - me, his wife and his 'Darkies', the offspring of the Selkie and a human. But she feels that he is happy in the sea and that one day we will see him there amid the waves.


While the thought that the pull of the ocean was stronger than his love for us fills me with sadness, this explanation of his 'departure' from us fits so very well that it carries some ....comfort, even for me. That he is back in the ocean that he so dearly loved. That there is a 'reason' for him to leave us. A need stronger than we were able to fight against.


As I watch my kids learn to accept the loss of their daddy, I find healing in their ideas and theories. To them, I am the giver of comfort. The one who offers a stable shoulder and an empathetic word. And I wonder if they will ever understand that not only does their presence make life more than bearable, but it brings me peace and understanding of our loss.


I know that he died. He is not literally in the sea. I know that he didn't leave us because he was a seal. But the sparkle and wonder in this theory adds a magic that is not present in the 'real' story of his loss.


And I love to imagine him in the place he loved best ~ the sea.