one week from today.

i'm one week away

from the day that

my gift to madeline

becomes something that

people will publicly

judge, both

positively and negatively.

some will praise

the "story," some will

criticize the writing.

some will find

something to

relate to and

others will wonder

how the hell

i "did it."

i'm ready for all

of that,

but more than

anything, i hope that

someday my daughter

reads it and

realizes just how

much i love her.

Purging ....

.... is rather a "loaded" word, is it not?

Those of you who follow my blog or me on Facebook know that I have spent a lot of time over the last few weeks purging and organizing my home .... and my attic.  I find that I get the urge to purge about 2 or 3 times a year, and when that urge hits .... I just go with it.  Quickly.  And I work like a mad man woman until the urge leaves.   Everything from inside the house and attic now sits in the garage.  Well, everything but the trash, which I purged from the garage for 5 1/2 hours yesterday.  Now the rest is ready for donating.
Although I found another closet today (which is now cleaned out and organized!) and some cabinets that still need to be hit.

As I thought about what to write about for this post the word "purging" came to mind.  Of course it's been in my mind, and many FB updates, for a while now.
But I thought of it differently today.
I realized that every week I purge myself when I write my Wednesday post here.
And, like the purging of my home, the purging of my heart here is a good thing.  It helps me.
And sometimes it helps others.

When I purge here I think I get rid of a lot of "junk" that's in my heart and then I have more room for some nicer things.
We all have a lot to purge, don't we?
I'm very glad that we have each to purge on (that brings to mind a disgusting image, doesn't it? Sorry!).
But really, I can take your purging.
And I know that you can take mine.
Not everyone can, you know.

Most people are not in the same club we're in.
Lucky, lucky them.

I found that many people could take my purging in the early days.  But that ability seems to wane after a couple of months or so .... at least for what seems to be the majority of the population.
It's ironic that as our friends' ability to take it fades, our need to purge grows.
In the beginning we're too shocked to know what to do, let alone how to react, what to say, what not to say ..... and who to say or not say it to.

But then we get a bit stronger, though we seem to feel weaker .... and worse.  And we begin to purge.  Hopefully we find someone upon whom we can purge.  But young/youngish widowed people are difficult to find.  And if we don't find one, we most likely will find ourselves purging upon the wrong person/people.

So again ..... I'm glad you're here.
I'm glad I'm here.
Well ..... not glad in the sense that we all have a reason to be here but ..... you know what I mean.

And that's exactly my point.

Playing Cards

Please welcome our guest writer Chris who is filling in for the vacationing Michelle today. Thanks Chris!

Sometimes when people learn that Maggie and I did not have any children together they say “Oh, that’s good.” Other times they say “Oh, that’s too bad.” Either way, it’s very odd to me that they feel the need to pass judgment on whether or not we have kids. It was just timing. Really! Just timing! Before Maggie’s diagnosis, we did not strategically avoid parenthood, we just weren’t there yet. Actually, pre-diagnosis, we planned on getting pregnant as soon as I was out of school (I was headed to the Acton MBA program just after she graduated from Baylor law school.) Aggressive chemo to fight The Cancer pretty much killed those plans. What’s the ol’ saying? “We plan. God laughs”? Yeah, timing, not choice, put the cards on the table with which I now play the game.


I’ve wondered often what parenthood might have been like with my wife. We always had so much fun together so I was excited about raising kids with her, which I’ve never told anyone before now. My feelings were less “Hey, cool, we’re gonna have kids!” but more “Oh, this will be a fun, new adventure with My Sweetheart!” Now, just days after one of her best friends delivered her first and weeks after another of her best friends delivered her second, I’m reminded daily of the cards that timing dealt, and the adventures I’ll never get to experience. I’ve always been told having kids brought a new adventure every day. I always had so much fun with my trusty, and spirited, adventure-buddy. Damn, I miss our adventures; both the ones we used to have and the ones we never will.

Funny thing, all the soul searching in the world couldn’t tell me whether the cards I have been dealt add up to a royal flush or just plain crap. While I can definitely see the cards (they are kinda hard to miss at this point), I don’t know the rules of the game. Heck, I don’t even know the other players, really, or who might eventually show up to the table. And when they do, it’ll be interesting to see what cards they bring. Fortunately, (and this is a little bit of Maggie rubbing off on me) I tend to lean toward “everyone wins” instead of a winner-takes-all type of game. So, IF someone shows up at the table AND they have the right cards, maybe we can put our cards together and have another crack at this game. Or maybe we can even play a new game, a game with less thinking, like Go Fish.

Disappointment

I received an email from a friend today. She decided that she needed to be direct with me about the status of our friendship. She said that she doesn't know how to be in a friendship with me anymore, and that she has felt this way ever since Michael died. She feels like any pain, loss, disappointment or loneliness that she has experienced in her lifetime, just doesn't rate in my mind. It has made her feel like she has nothing to offer me, or that there is no room for her to share what's going on in her life, especially if it is something positive.

When I first read this I felt quite hurt. Then as I sat with my thoughts and feelings awhile longer I came to the conclusion that she is right. I haven't made room for her experiences to be of comfort to me. I have closed myself off to people that used to be in my life. I have felt anger and disappointment with how friends responded to me in the aftermath. That said, there is nothing I could have done differently.

I have not been a very good friend to anyone these past 18 months. Well, that's not true. I have been a good friend to my fellow widowed bloggers who have taken center stage in my support system. I can do that because they are going through what I am going through at the same time. There is no need for explanations, no need for expectations, and no need to apologize for my ability to engage or not engage.

The other side of this is that I have not, and still do not feel, like I have much to offer to anyone right now who isn't widowed. I am so broken, that I am somewhat immobilized. I often don't return calls, and rarely reach out to connect with anyone. This is because I am so lost. When I look at myself from the eyes on the non-widowed, I feel like a disappointment. I feel like I am failing to move on. I feel like I am not willing to separate from my widowed role long enough to see the positives in life. I am a failure.

I know that I should be reaching out, but don't. I know that I should start giving back to those who gave to me early on. I know that I should stop waiting for old friends and family to come find me. I know that I should be willing to put my grief aside long enough to make room for their happiness in spite of my loss. All this said, I still don't know how.

Earlier today I was visiting my parents. My father has been in the care taking role with my mother for a very long time. I see how it is affecting him, and I see how sick and miserable my mother is. I do reach out to them, and try to help as much as possible. But, in the end, I know that in spite of their ongoing predicament, they still have each other. While at their home one of my cousins dropped by with her husband and two daughters. My cousin has the same illness that my mother has, and so has taken to bringing my parents a meal now and then, and to compare information about their individuals treatments. I sat there, with my parents on one couch, my cousin and her husband on the other, with me across the room on a single chair. I felt sorry for all the challenges both couples are going through, but my empathy kept waning in the process. I couldn't move away from the fact that even though they are not well, and have many worries, they at least have each other.

I feel like a bad person when I recognize this. It's the dark side of grieving the death of a spouse. How do you continue to interact with couples, who in spite of difficult times, still have so much? I feel like everywhere I go, I see people who have it better. I see people that truly have happiness. I see people who have, or got to have, their spouses for many years. I see couples who have children with not so many challenges. I see people who are having a better life than the one I have been given. Am I angry and disappointed like my friend said? Yes.

I look into the eyes of my children, and I also see disappointment. I feel like I have let them down. I feel like I have put myself ahead of the line too many times. I feel like I should be able to will myself better, if not for myself, then for them. I sometimes wish that I could just disappear so that I wouldn't have to see that look from anyone again.

I also don't know what to do about my writing anymore. Clearly my friend has been reading my personal blog, and taking some of what I say personally. All to many times, friends have said that they are needing to catch up with me by reading my blog. This is often said in a quick email, or on a Facebook post. I think that many have become used to reading about my life rather than actually asking me about my life. My blog is my wailing wall. It is quite personal. It is quite honest. It is not filtered. It was not meant for their eyes. It was meant to give me a place to purge my grief as I experience it. It was also meant for you, my fellow widow(er)s.

I'm not sure where to go with this at present. Do I stop writing? Do I start editing myself? I don't want to carry the burden of those around me not knowing how to connect with me. I don't want to worry about how I make them feel. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't want to turn anyone away. I feel like I either need to kick myself in the ass and move on, or completely let go of old relationships. I know that it doesn't have to be one way or the other, but I end up feeling so guilty for the way I have responded to my loss.

Bitter. Angry. Resentful. Envious. Hurt.

Have I closed the door to possible joy? Have I allowed myself to be defined by my loss to the point that I have turned people away? Someone recently said to me, "oh, so you identify as a widower?" The question felt so judgemental, even though I know that is not what the person meant. But, it really has stuck with me. Is it not okay to identify as a widower? Are people asking widows the same thing? Or, is it because I am a man that it comes into question. Am I supposed to just man up, not take on the descriptive identity, and carry on as a single person who just happened to have had a husband who died?

I am so lost and confused. What am I doing wrong? Everything?

Ugly and Forgiveness

This is post from March 26, 2010
I've been going back to find myself, to ground this experience, to find a way to mark the growth, the good changes and all the challenges I have overcome.
I'm been going back to find courage.
This is what the post said.
-------

“He’s in our thoughts and prayers.”

“We are sending a blanket of love.”

Those are words I read today about a boy, who like Art is

battling his second round of cancer.

He’s doing a better job than Art did

and I’m NOT doing a better job at begin gracious.

Instead, when I read those words of love

And support

Ms. Cynic thinks

“Save your breath!”

“Those good thoughts and prayers

Don’t work.

If they did,

I wouldn’t be writing this column.”

Silly, stupid, people.

-------

That boy died earlier morning on Friday, March 26.

The grief sucked me down its whirlpool, shame followed

And anger was fast on its heels.

Only this time, I bobbed to the surface

Before I got too much water up my nose.

The whirlpool didn’t take me down as far and I am not as disoriented.

I cry because I know where his mom will go.

I know the journey of loss

and the idea of someone I know walking it

Makes me scream myself raw

and punch trees

and crumble to the floor and say

“Why her? Why her?”

Brooks….I’m sorry.

I wanted those silly, stupid people to be right.

I really wish they had been right.

-----

I re-read these words and at first, I feel shame

and then oddly

it is followed by forgiveness.

In the wake of the last few months

I have learned to forgive myself.

To forgive myself for:

not calling his doctor sooner,

for not convincing him to try alternative treatments

for not singing to him the moment he died

for not being too tired on Saturday to visit him so I could have alerted the doctors sooner

for not waiting to hold the memorial service so our friends from across the country could attend

for not kissing him on the lips after he died

for not staying in bed for days and days and days like I really think I should have

for not playing the widow part good enough

for not being more loving to him when he was around the last few months

for not being kinder to stupid people

for trying so hard to please all those around because somehow I felt their attention was unworthy

for it all

for crying too much or not crying enough

for my anger

for....

the list goes on.

In his death, I found my humanity and my imperfections.

In his death, I have discovered that it's not my fault.

In his death, I have discovered myself.

Me

“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.”

- Scott Fitzgerald

I'm introspective.

You can still find me wandering the "Self-Help" aisles at a bookstore to find things to challenge my being and better my soul. Like art, all I took and take from those paperbacks is interpreted differently to me than others...and hell, I'm as flawed as a clearance item at a "Ross" store, so in seeing that each life...or in Ross standards..each item..is individual and unique..had been the springboard to me following the path that I am on.

I know the day I stop learning and growing will be the day I die.

Lately though, I've felt challenged for being the person I am. The way I do things and the life I lead.

It brought me down to a place I couldn't stand. It made me reflect, but in that reflection I just had to hold tight to me and who I am.

It's hard sometimes not having Michael (the most honest, loving, and caring individual I've ever known) here. He called me out when I was wrong, reassured me when I was right, and ever so delicately let me know that I am perfect as I am.

It was with that love and care, that I strive/strived to be even better at living, laughing, apologizing, and forgiving.

So the quote above is one I will repeat in those moments of feeling totally mis-understood in this big world....The moments where I can't physically hear his voice, but where I will pluck the cord in my being that he embedded in me. The cord that sang to me that I am enough......

rerecord

Photo from here...

Sometimes this whole 'widow' thing gets old. Like the chorus of an unhappy song that gets stuck in your head and keeps you awake. Over and over the words repeat singing those same lines again and again. You try to not pay attention. Try to forget the words. Try to listen to a new song. But your little brain has it so deeply embedded it can't be persuaded to "hear" something else.
I get tired of being a widow. I get sick of talking about it. I get annoyed with writing about it. I am over thinking about it. But still it sticks. Stuck in the groove. Firmly planted on repeat.
I'd love a new reality. To have something new to think about. A new conversation that didn't ultimately, and at times embarassingly, come around to the fact that my husband is dead. I want to be over it. I am sick of it. I don't want to think about it, breathe it, speak it or feel it. It's old.