commemoration

First written one year after Jeff died....

Since Jeff died, I have carried this wound of loss inside me. To anyone passing me on the street this scar is hidden. But it is there nonetheless.

I have tried to think of a way to commemorate the loss of Jeff that makes this scar, not only a sign of an injury, but a symbol of survival and strength. Something that calls my love to my mind and helps me to feel closer to the strength and his abilities of self-assurance that he was so capable of. Jeff was my anchor and the loss of him has forced me to grow so very much since his death.

So, in memory of Jeff, I went on the anniversary of his death to remember him with a symbol. An anchor to symbolize Jeff and his love of the ocean and mehndi style flowers and feathers to symbolize growth and flight.

Although I am sure that its' placement (on the inside of my right forearm) will cause a few raised eyebrows (my grandmother wasn't hugely impressed), I am okay with this. This is me. This is my life. These are the marks placed upon it by the happenings in my life. These marks are to remind me that Jeff loved me flaws and all, that I am strong, forced to be even stronger since losing him, and that he will always be with me in someway. When I wrap my arms around my children, this symbol will be held close to them. When I clutch at my chest with fear or sadness, he will be close to my heart...

Not meant to be doing this alone

photo from here

My son needs to have an endoscopy done under general anaesthetic next week.

I have not told the small boy yet.

It's a relatively minor procedure as these things go, but the thought of my little 7 year old man being probed and prodded whilst knocked out terrifies me.

The specialist who is doing this exploratory procedure will hopefully have some answers to help the boy who has had reflux since he was a baby.... reflux that has grown worse over the past two years and which sees him vomit several times a day, or constantly need to spit out mouthfuls of semi-digested food.

It could be a reaction to grief. It could be an allergy. It could be cancer. It could be habit.

... but the surgery was not deemed "urgent" so I think the paediatric gastroenterologist is leaning toward allergy and is ruling out other causes.

That worry aside, I have another worry ..... my parents are going interstate the following day (my brother's wife is sick and they need to help them).

Which means that if there are complications .... we are on our own.

There should be two parents around to organise the logistics of getting one child to hospital by 6:30am and the other to school by 8am.

There should be two parents to share the worry and talk it through out of earshot of the small boy and his sister.

There should be two parents who can hug each other tight and mutter that everything will be fine.

....and there should be two parents who can make this child feel protected, safe and OK about going to hospital

I am not meant to be doing this alone....

Emotional Confusion ....

.... seems to be my theme these days.

Well, I guess when I say "these days", I really mean these past 3 years and 10 months, but who's counting?

I used to be so "stable", emotionally speaking.
Or at least, I thought I was.
I know that I could wear a good mask.  Maybe I even wore them for myself sometimes.

But these days .... these days I can cry at the drop of a hat.  Even when I'm feeling fine.
And I'm usually feeling fine .... pretty darn good, actually.
And then .... I'm not.

Yesterday was one of those days.
I started out feeling great.  But then I found out that a friend was attending a funeral later that day.
A funeral for a 23 year old boy .... who killed himself.
That news made me sigh .... and feel sad.
But the following news shook me to the core:  his mother .... his single mother .... came home to find his body.

I managed to not cry in front of my friends.  I firmly put my mask in place, and locked it tightly.
Until I got home.
And then I broke down .... because all I could think, was that woman .... that mother .... has no one with her.
She has no husband, no partner to help carry her grief.  No one to sit with her and share the blackness with her.
She has a daughter, but as we all know ....
That.
Is.
Not.
The.
Same.

A couple of day ago I saw a news story about a couple who have written a book.
His wife died a few years ago, leaving him to only parent their 3 young children.
Her husband died shortly before that, leaving her to parent their 2 young children.  It seems that his wife knew this woman.  And she knew that this woman  was newly widowed.  His wife, even as she was dying of cancer, encouraged him to contact this widow.
And he did.
And they fell in love, married, and have written a book.
And I just stood there, watching them .... and cried.

I'm not sure why I cried, since they all seemed to be one big happy family .... now.
Maybe I cried because I knew what they had to go through .... before they got to "now".
Maybe I cried because they both teared up as they spoke of their late spouse.
Or maybe I cried just because I'm an emotional mess "these days".
I can be up one minute .... and then hear a story of someone who's died .... and barely hold the tears back.

I'm really ok.
In fact, I'm more than ok.
I'm happy most of the time.
There is someone in my life who seems to understand more than he should be able to understand.  And he gives me more support than I've felt in almost four years.
But still ....

My body seems to be emotionally confused.
I don't like being confused.
I don't like being emotional.

But after three years and ten months ....
you'd think I'd be used to it .... wouldn't you?

Safe Haven

In the past few weeks I've had more days than I've had in a very long time when I make the drive home from work feeling like I've got nothing left. I can't imagine one more thing making its way onto my ever growing list. I feel as if I can't muster a smile. I can't put on a happy face. There is no bright side.

I sit in traffic in my emptiness. Lately, as I make my way home from the office I am still on a conference call dealing with some new crisis. My head begins to throb and I wonder if it will ever improve.

I drive up the hill to our house, turn onto our street, and see our mailbox. I point my car up the driveway and pull into my spot. I turn off the car, look up at our house, and suddenly, I feel it.... Sanctuary. Our place. A place becoming more like home each day as the boxes are slowly unpacked and familiar items are carefully placed and co-mingled. A place I go to at the end of a long day and feel loved and cared for. A place both unexpected and wonderful. A place I didn't even dream of finding.

Sanctuary.


(photo from: http://www.fornire.co.uk/)

Bedroom Conversations

I have never reposted anything here, as I prefer to speak in the present, yet I wanted to share something I wrote on my own blog a few days ago. It's something that is still very much on my mind, and something that is likely on the mind of those around me.


Funny how lying on a bed can bring about soul searching, or heart wrenching, conversations. My bed is no different. It has been host to many discussions in the past, and continues to host myself, and various people I love, as we explore our intimate thoughts and feelings.

Earlier, after coming home from work, and getting out of my work duds, I was lying alone on my bed, looking at Michael's urn, and feeling a variety of feelings. I wanted to smile, and I felt like crying. I'm in a good place right now, and yet my grieving continues. As I began to bury my face into the pillow, and allow myself to give up control, there was a knock at my door. It was my 13 year old son, who asked if he could lay on my bed with me. We lay there, in silence, with my arm across his body.

"Dad, can we talk?"

Yes, Remy, whatever you want to talk about.

He wanted to talk about my developing relationship with this new man in my life. He expressed, as well as a 13 year old boy can, how conflicted he feels about how quickly things appear to be moving for this person and me. He said that it is clear that I am happy, and he is happy for me, but what must Michael be feeling right now? Before I could answer, he said that he knows that Michael would be very happy for me, because Remy knows that Michael wanted me to be happy, and to love again. Yet, Remy wanted to know, "Don't you think Michael might be just a little bit mad?"

It's been two years, two very long years. And yet, it also feels like it just happened yesterday. In the two years that Michael lived with his death sentence he would speak of my next boyfriend, and what my life might be like. I would ask him not to talk like that, but he never would stop. He was very clear with me. He wouldn't be happy, if he knew that I wasn't happy. He wanted to die knowing that I would find love and happiness once more. He believed that I deserved that.

One day, long ago, my older son Dante was having a conversation with Michael. He told Michael that he worried that I wouldn't survive after Michael died. Michael told him, in his usual humorous way, that he certainly hoped that I would be heart-broken, and that I would miss him, but that he had no doubt that I would survive. After all, Michael was there with me when I went through many a trial in raising my kids.

Today, while lying there with Remy, I reminded him that we are all so capable of loving. I love him with all my heart. I love his brother and sister with all my heart. I love Michael with all my heart. And, I can love someone new with all my heart.

One love does not negate another.

Tonight, lying in my bed, I spoke with this new person in my life, his name is Abel, and we too spoke of Michael, of Remy, of Dante, and of Arianne. We spoke of my journey as a widower. We spoke of my heart-break and healing. We spoke of the time needed to grow into love, and we spoke of how we can carefully navigate all this while being mindful of younger minds and hearts.

This has become a part of my nightly ritual. The nine o'clock hour arrives, I pick up the phone, I call him, we talk, we listen, we laugh, and we smile.

I have the ashes of my husband to my right, and I have the voice of a new love interest to my left. Is this balance? Is this chaos? Is this right? Is this wrong? Will it last? Will it not? Will I be happy? Will I be sad?

There are no easy answers, but then, I'm not looking for easy answers. I'm looking, and planning on, more work ahead. I'm expecting struggle, and I'm expecting ease. My life is a journey that I often have little control of. At this point in my life, I no longer seek to control it. I choose to experience it, and to embrace as much of it as possible as it unveils itself to me.

I consider myself gifted by this new person in my life. I am experiencing hope once again. I'm feeling like I have much to offer, and I feel like someone is extending a gentle hand my way.

After an hour of intimate conversation, it was time to say goodnight. There was a longing there, which we both verbalized. It gave me a feeling of anticipation when I will have this person before me once again. I rolled over on my bed, and looked up into the brightly lit night. I thanked Michael for his love. I thanked Abel for his open heart. And, I smiled.

Forgiving My In-Laws

But you can forgive most things.

I got this image from here

In-laws. (My husband’s parents)

My in-laws.
I have not spoken to them in 1 yr and 10 months.
Until three months ago, I had not corresponded with them for the same amount of time.

My in-laws…
Have not seen my youngest since he was 7. He’s now 9.

My in-laws.
When I tell people the story of how I was treated by them, they are the subject of much head shaking and “OMG! They did what?” by all.

My in-laws
Lets just say …. We’ve gotten along, umm, better when Art was alive.

My little “widow” secret is 9 months after Art died, my relationship died with them died.

For months over a year, I have wanted to write about them but ... first there was the rage to get through, then the shame, then the rage again. And it all felt taboo. I mean, they lost too. I do not know what it’s like to loose a child. How can I possibly pass judgment on their behavior?

That's what I told myself when they were cruel to me. “Grief does wacky things to people.” I said. And so I let them treat me poorly, giving them the space to blame me or the city or his life out here or anything they wanted to for his death because I know, accepting a death is not done gracefully.

In a perfect world, when death hits, a family pulls, together. They round up their wagons, support and love each other right into healing. In a perfect world.

Instead, they didn’t like my wagon, couldn’t understand why I would drive it and why I would not return with their wagons to where they were.

I felt shame … bad widow. You are not the only one who has lost.
Hurt … how could they not help? How could they say no to his kids?
Rejected – they never liked me or the different way my kids "look."
I had quite a few pity parties.

All of that I carried around with me like a purse of gold coins, valuable to my worth by really frickin' heavy. Ashamed to write about any of it, because somewhere I believed that I was not good enough for them.

Until I got tired of telling the story and listening to the righteous indignation of others at my in-laws behavior, until I accepted they never understood the life Art and I built so far away from them, until I realized it was not my problem but theirs, until I just got tired of being so mad.

So I let go and suddenly I forgave them. I do not, nor will I ever, know why they did what they did. (I suspect they don’t know either.)

I didn’t send them a note announcing “I have now forgiven you!” I didn’t call them either. I just started emailing little tidbits about the kid’s lives and how the weather was.

And now I don’t hate them, I don’t worry about what they think of me cause, for the first time, I don’t care.

Death (and time) have freed me.

I don't think we will ever be friends. And the days of staying in their home are very limited if not over. But...they lost a son. God willing, I will never know what that's like. They did what they did. I will never forget that. But I have forgiven them, finally. And it feels good.

Breeze

The beach air seeps into my skin. The clouds melt into my eyes. The breeze wisps past my heart.

I sit here on a deck by the ocean. I sit here an reflect. I sit here and absorb.

I'm here in Port Aransas for an AWP getaway. I've fallen ill. Not a cold, but something I fear to test, as I fear of how it could incapacitate me, how it could make me face life's bumps without him.

So I sit here on the porch, red wine to my right, eternal ocean to my left.

Not being with my fellow widows, at a time that I have put my heart, life and love into leaves me to my own devices.

So I sit here and say out loud, to myself, what is aching to leave my lungs. A realization I've long known but never put into words.

The fact. The utter truth...that you never know the sacredness of a smile or laugh until you can't hear or see the one you most love. Fear that your own will never return. A sacredness that decided to embrace me once more. Introduced me to a long, lost friend.

And the breeze passes by my cheek as I look into the now glittering lights of the hotels in the night's horizon.

And I smile.

And with his love enveloping me...I laugh.