mirrors.

i was looking for

something else,

but i found two mirrors,

buried in bags,

buried in boxes,

buried in a garage.

buried.

one, part of

a fold-up hairbrush.

the other,

a compact to check

her makeup.

i found the compact first.

i don't think

i'd ever seen it before.

i held it.

i closed my eyes.

slowly.

slowly.

slowly.

i opened it.

i opened them.

i saw me.

i was disappointed.

some more digging.

i found the other mirror.

i have memories of

that one.

it was used

in nepal.

and india.

and greece.

and peru.

and many other places

where she

knew i'd give

her shit for

carrying a full-sized hairbrush.

in my left hand.

folded open with my right.

eyes closed.

slowly.

slowly.

slowly.

i opened it.

i opened them.

i saw me.

i was sad.

neither one

of these mirrors had

seen a face since

hers.

i don't really know what

i expected to see.

maybe her.

but i had to

remind myself...

these aren't

like cameras,

preserving an image forever.

they reflect back

a moment.

a moment that doesn't last.

The Grass Isn't Always Greener ....

.... just because you're in a relationship.
Most relationships have their bumps and turns.
But throw in two widowed people, their children (8, with & without teenage hormones), the difference in the time of their widowedness (6 1/2 years) and the grief that each still carries ..... and you don't just have a few bumps and turns. 
You have a monstrous version of bumper cars.

No, it's not always bumpy and yes, it's nice to be cared for again and loved by someone.
But it doesn't make me miss Jim any less.
And it doesn't make it easier to learn how to communicate with someone new.

Jim and I loved, argued, communicated, disagreed, agreed, raised children .... and just lived our life...one way.

He and his wife lived their life another way and for a shorter amount of time (not that time matters in grief, but it does matter in how long one has been the sole support,provider, parent, decision-maker in his/her home).

It is wonderful to feel loved.
It's not wonderful to wonder what you must've said this time to make him upset (or visa versa for him) because you don't know how he thinks .... like you FINALLY (mostly!) learned with your spouse.

It is wonderful to be held.
It's not wonderful to always feel that you have to be the peace-maker between an adult and children.

It's wonderful to have someone to spend time with.
It's not wonderful to feel upset, or know he's upset, because you rarely have enough time for just each other.

It's wonderful to know that if something happened to you and you really needed him/her, he/she would be there to support you.
It's not wonderful to know that you will always play second fiddle to his/her children.
Always.

So .... is it worth all of the "it's not wonderfuls" to be in a relationship after being widowed?
I guess we all have to decide that for ourselves.
We tend to forget how much work really went into our marriages/relationships/love.

So we need to be careful in making our decisions.
We need to weigh so many different things that most people don't have to consider at all.
We have to truly .... look before we leap, no matter how tempting it is to have someone again.
And we have to try really hard to remember that our spouses ..... sorry to write this ..... were not perfect.
I know. :)

Love is wonderful.
I think that, for me, this relationship is worth it.
But it doesn't take away the pain.
Or the scar.
Or the tears.

A relationship .... ANY relationship .... is hard work.
But it can be worth it. At least I think this one can.
For me.

Especially if I keep in mind that ..... the grass is NEVER greener ....

The Last Picture

Five years ago today we took the last picture. We were on our way home from Disney and a day away from our first appointment at MD Anderson. Of course we didn't know it was the last picture...that's why the happiness in those two faces is real.

It's hard to believe it's been five years. I can close my eyes and it feels like yesterday. It feels like now. Only he's not here and he hasn't been for years. It only takes a look at Grayson's height and the lines in my face to have proof of the passage of time. It's in our hearts that the time passes so much more slowly. It's like geologic time. It moves so slowly and grindingly that the passage of time is almost imperceptible.

Who knew in those first few months that passed like decades - so slowly that you thought you'd never survive it...who knew how quickly time would move and suddenly five years would have passed. I remember a conversation with Michele about 4 years ago. I told her I couldn't imagine making it to 5 years. What would that look like?

Funny thing is that it doesn't look so different in lots of ways. I am older and so is G. We are happier now than we were 5 years ago, that is certain. We are somewhat peaceful about the path that we are on, although we each have our days of angst and missing Daniel. We talk about it. We wish out loud that he could be alive. We wonder out loud why it all had to happen. We also talk about how great our life is and how lucky we are. It's a paradox. You'd think with what we've experienced neither one of us would feel terribly blessed. We are and we know it. I find hope in that. I believe my little guy does too.

Happy Tuesday - Michelle D.

Anniversary Gift

I am quickly approaching what would be my second wedding anniversary. Can I see a raise of hands as to who thinks this might be a difficult time for me?

A no brainer, right?

I have come to have a really negative visceral reaction to the word anniversary. It is a sad reality, but I like other young widowed people, missed out on a lot of things that other people take for granted. A basic one that I missed out on was wedding anniversaries. And I won't lie, I am bitter as hell.

I grew up in a home where anniversaries were really big deals. My parents have been married for 54 years. As a child, and as an adult, I have been present for many of their wedding anniversary celebrations, including their huge 50th wedding anniversary. My brothers and I helped my parents plan a renewing of their vows, and a wonderful reception filled with friends and family. In the weeks leading up to their celebration I met a wonderful guy. He was sweet, he was sexy, and he was quickly capturing my heart. I remember feeling an urge to invite him to the celebration, which was in Southern California. I resisted the urge, as we had only been dating a short time, and I didn't think it would go off very well if I brought a date to the anniversary party. I remember standing outside the church, posing for a family picture with my parents, my brothers, their wives, and all of our children. The whole time I stood there waiting for the picture to be taken I had this gnawing feeling that Michael should have been there. It's hard to describe, but I knew that he would have a place in my family. Two and a half years later, we stood in a similar pose in San Francisco, with all of my family members gathered around us.

Our wedding was as traditional as they go. We felt that we deserved to have all the rituals and celebrations that go along with getting married. We looked forward to that first wedding anniversary, when we could toast to our first year together as a legally wed couple. The thing was, we knew that the day would likely not come around for us. Michael had a death sentence, and while we loved with a passion each day that we were blessed with, we also lived with a harsh reality, which was a brain tumor. I lost Michael on September 13, 2009, and celebrated without him on October 19, 2009.

The gift that I received on September 13, 2009, was the beginning of my Year of Firsts. The first anniversary of...since his death. I have been celebrating these anniversaries ever since. I tell myself that I have plenty to be grateful for, and I have wonderful friends who have tried to reach out to me on these difficult anniversary dates, but in the end, I have to celebrate them alone. It's not that I am ungrateful, or that I don't think about the wonderful times we had in the past, but at the end of the day, I am alone. There is no avoiding this reality.

Unfortunately for me, death was a gift that keeps on giving. I'm told by some that it gets easier, and to be honest it has. Yet, if not easier, then at least it has become more familiar. I have also been told that the second year of anniversaries is more painful, because you now face them without the numbness that surrounded you the first time out. Great. Happy anniversary to me.

I'm going to work hard at reframing my thoughts about anniversaries this year. I won't pretend that I am not already feeling enormous pain associated with my upcoming second wedding anniversary, but I do want to find a way to make the word, anniversary, not feel like such a punishment, or torturous reminder.

In my darker humorous moments, I say that my first wedding anniversary gift was as traditional as they get. Paper. I received a death certificate. I know, it's horrible to say. But my second wedding anniversary gift will is cotton, and I received it a bit early this year. While at Camp Widow my wonderful friend Susan presented me with a pillow case quilted out of Michael's well worn cotton shirts.

Special days such as this will certainly bring tears, but we all know how absorbent cotton is.

What a blessing.

Official First Date!!

As we walked he wrapped his arm around my waist.
I leaned in, not away.

As we talked he looked into my eyes (so sorry for the corniness of that statement)
And I looked back, not down.

We sat at dinner and I danced in his attention.
Rose, glowed, warmed when he looked at me thinking I was not paying attention, when he laughed at my quick wit, when he beamed after I said "OMG, these charred Brussels Sprouts are soooo, soooo good! Thank you soooo much for ordering them!"

And when I got up to use the restroom,
(with the intention of not taking another sip out of either my wine or water...damn the date rape drug)
I intentionally didn't pull my shirt all the way down over my jeans
knowing that he was looking,
feeling like he was lucky to be able to look, lucky that I wanted him to look.

As we went up the escalator his warm hand found mine
and only let go briefly in the movie.
And just like in the movies, he was shocked that I was crying.
He took both my hands, pulled me in, his face all concern and asked "Are you ok?"
And when I respond that "I cry easily," (which is my new truth after Art's death) he smiled and kissed me on the forehead.
And then starts to gently, affectionately wipe my tears away,
until the flow gets to be
too much
and I have to stop him
because
well...
the tears are mixing with
the stuff coming from my nose.
And after all,
it is only our first date.

And then he walked me to my car
and we stand there,
knowing what was going to happen next.
And I'm asking God, "Please make him a good kisser. Please make him a good kisser!"
And he is.
And I am delighted
and I revel in his touch, his soft hands, the firmness, the gentleness,
the experience-ness of them.
And I revel in the light, respectful but oh so wonderful kisses.

Then he pulls away and says,
"Art was very lucky to have you."

And I revel more, like a dog who has found a really
good
smelly
pile
of stuff ...
to roll in.

I see I am not just reveling in his kiss,
or his attention
or his touch, although all three are good enough reasons.

I am reveling in myselfness. This widow, who couldn't see this place, who didn't want to go to this place, is now dancing and shining and laughing in this place.

And there is no guilt
And there is no shame.

This widow is alive and boy, does it feel fuckin' good!!!!

ACL 2010

[caption id="attachment_453" align="aligncenter" width="473" caption="2009 ACL Festival"]

This weekend I'll be at the Austin City Limits Music Festival. 8 stages, over a hundred bands, but to me it is so much more.

Last October, my best friend (and fellow widow) and I ventured out on the green grass, drinking wine from sports bottles, listening to amazing music, having a grief/stress free time.

Of course, since Michael's death I've had many days that way. Worry free, almost to the point where I forget that he's even dead, but what differentiated that festival weekend from anything else was the affect it had once the 3 days were over.

You see, after Michael died, the future was unbearable fathom. Minute by minute was as far as my mind and heart could comprehend. As time passed I could maybe look a month or two ahead, but after ACL happened the amazing happened. I went and bought tickets for the next year's festival over a year in advance.

I couldn't believe it, but it felt so good. 2 years after my soul mate's passing, I had seen the possibility of looking forward to something not only in the future...but a year in the future!

So you see, this weekend is more than a music festival, it is a marker of what has allowed me to see and plan and get excited for life again. It is 3 days, that year ago allowed me to look 365 days ahead, allowing me to be set free from the fear of having to face another second without my other half.

“My interest is in the future because I am going to spend the rest of my life there”
-Charles F. Ketering

the anger

Photo from Hardcore Stress Management

**My apologies for the raw and rude wording of this post. It's been written in the heat of the moment but I feel it would lessen it's 'feel' if I softened the wording. I hope no one is offended**

There are times I hate him for dying. Two and a half years later and I could spit fury at his lack of care for his health, for his concern for our welfare, for his love for us.
I feel so lost still at times. So alone. So bereft.
I watch others who have found love again. I see those who have never lost theirs. The jealousy and envy I feel are almost tangible.
The agony of being half of a whole is so filled with melancholy....and at times, humiliation.
Who wants the damaged goods that a widowed mother of two has to offer?
The only people who offer their services as companion or 'lover' are either already 'reserved' or are the kind of human who would whack off on a webcam to an unsuspecting stranger in an attempt to get their thrill.
I am tired of the lack of touch. I could almost molest my hairdresser for gently brushing my hair - and she's a pregnant female. I feel pathetic. And desperate. And furious at Jeff for causing this. Fucking asshole.