Worth

It's 2012.

I'm here in Tennessee with group of widows and all feels right.

I woke up this morning and walked in the mountains. The fresh, cold air on my face. The sound of nothing but wind through pine needles. The necessity to do nothing but listen to the thoughts in my mind. To say nothing but my feelings to my heart and him.

I know that 2013 and 2014 and 2015 will come. I don't know what each year will hold, or if I'll even be in them, but I do know that living is the only answer to each day that passes...each month that passes...each year.

He is my reason for living, and through that reasoning, I have even found reason to live for myself.

He was always someone who I planned or would have died for, but when cards dealt something unexpectedly, I knew I had to live for him, and in doing so, I found not only a reason to live for myself, but for others like me.

I love that I have that knowledge...I love knowing what I am alive for...and what I know I would and will die for.

That knowledge, undoubtedly, will make 2012 and beyond a year and lifetime worth living.

Keep Your Head Up

The weather here in Texas has been gorgeous the last few days. A bit too cool for a convertible, but perfect for sitting on a patio in the sun and drinking a margarita. These kind of days made me very sad in the days, months, and years after Daniel died. They reminded me so much of him and how much I missed him. Now, I feel like he sends me these days, just when I need them. A little "hello" from heaven. I had the sunroof open in the car on the way to work this morning, and a song came on the radio that put a smile on my face and a skip in my step. Grayson loves this song, and he was singing it out loud as we drove to school. Hope it cheers you up the way it did us. Happy Friday!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wq7edbqi9n0

sex, death and Santa

Photo from here...

There are some topics taboo in childhood. Topics which we attempt to ignore and gloss over for children. We feel they don't need to know....yet.

But when a child has had to bear witness to the truth, then what?

"I told Ryan all about how Daddy died," my five year old son, Briar, proudly told me as he sat on the toilet behind me. "That way, he'll know how it feels when his daddy dies."

I froze, mid-mascara stroke, attempting to come up with an appropriate reply. I was pleased that he was so comfortable communicating about such an emotion-filled topic. But I was also worried that his actions would concern Ryan's family when the little boy had multiple sleepless nights filled with angst imagining the death of his own father.

"Wow, honey," I answered after a long pause, "that was very.... thoughtful of you.....What did Ryan say when you told him about it?"

By now, Briar was absentmindedly staring at the pattern in the lino on the bathroom floor. "He just listened and didn't say anything much."

I was struck with the thought that, much like sex and Santa, death or mortality is a topic that parents want to have with their own children. They don't want some kid announcing it nonchalantly on the school bus or while playing Lego. It's hinted at in our culture...But rarely stated so bluntly as my sweet little boy did.

I can and will assure Ryan's parents that Briar's topic of conversation came from a kind and innocent place. And I know from knowing Ryan's parents that they will most likely be completely fine with this....But what about next time?

Will other parents shift in their chairs and glance at each other uncomfortably across the dinner table when their son or daughter comes home from school with questions about the imminence of their death? Will they be upset that the cat is out of the bag? Or will they be pleased that the topic has come up? Should I explain to Briar that this is something that parents want to talk to their little ones about when they are ready? Or should I just let Briar's well-meant lessons on life show others that families come in all shapes and sizes and backgrounds?

At First I Was Really Ticked ....

                                                 picture from here


.... but now I'm feeling "normal" (I wanted to write that I was feeling "Pissed", but I didn't want to offend some of you by putting that in the title.  If it offends you in parenthesis .... I apologize).

A few months after Jim died it became clear to me that I needed to see my doctor, and I needed to see her quickly ..... about starting antidepressants.
I had never been on them before in my life.
I didn't know anything about them.
The one thing that I did know is that if I didn't see her soon, and get some help, I might not live another week.

And so I went.
And it became clear to her that I needed to be on them.
And so I started taking them.
And soon started feeling much more "balanced".
Not happy.  Still grieving.  But able to handle it.

That was almost 4 years ago.
This past fall I weaned off of those meds back in August/September.
And did really well.
For a while.

And then I did not.
I started sliding downhill around Thanksgiving.
But I knew that holiday .... and all of December, were going to be difficult and so I dug in my heels and decided that I'd just wait it out.
Because surely I'd be much better after New Year's.

Fortunately, I have been able to recognize when I am about to jump off of a cliff.
It was almost too late this time, because I kept thinking I just had to get past December.
I made it to Christmas Eve.
Barely.
And then the meds came back out.
Just in time.
I would not have made it past New Year's.

I had been spiraling downwards, further and further, the entire month of December.
I finally knew that I couldn't wait it out.
And so I threw in the towel.
And .... not only was I incredibly depressed .... I was hugely pissed.
I still am .... a little.

I'm pissed that, not only did I have to lose half of my heart when Jim died, but I had to physically and emotionally lose at least half of who I was.
I'm pissed that not only did grief exist in my life, but it physically changed my body ..... and the chemical makeup of my brain.
I think having a dead husband should be enough to suffer through .... enough of a change to have to endure.
But I guess my thinking isn't what always happens.

So now I am back on my meds .... and as of about one week ago, I'm feeling normal. Well, normal for me, that is.
One week ago today, was the first day that I didn't cry.  Not once, let alone most of the day.
And I haven't cried since ..... not from that cold, enveloping blackness anyway.
And I'm feeling happy again.
And seeing things through much clearer lenses.

And I'm thankful.
Thankful that we have these kinds of medications available and thankful that I finally gave in and took them.
And I'm thankful to feel happy again.
And normal.

But I'm still angry.
Angry that I have to take them, and probably always will, when the "before Janine" never needed them.
Ever.
And I'm angry that our society doesn't always recognize the chemical need that a brain has to stay balanced.
But mostly?  Mostly I'm angry that most people don't realize that they need help .... that their loved ones don't notice, or don't know what to do even if they notice .... until it's too late.
It angers me that our society doesn't know as much about depression ..... and how to recognize it, or what to do about it ..... as much as we know about the iPhone.

And it angers me that some factions of our society claim that depression doesn't really exist, that there's no need for antidepressants, and that it's all a sham.
That angers me a lot.

And though I know that I'm going out on a limb here .... it angers me that people who commit suicide are labeled as "incredibly selfish".
Because I don't agree.  I know that most of them were just unable to live one more minute with the pain inside of them.  And most of them probably thought that their loved ones would be much better off if they didn't have to deal with someone who not only is in constant pain, who couldn't see an end to the pain and the "blackness", but who was also dragging everyone down with them.

We need to know more.
Much more.
And I hope that one day soon ..... we will.

As for me, I'm a lot more happy than I am angry or sad now.
I'm back to feeling more like me.
And this was the first time that I looked forward to New Year's since 2006/2007.
And that's too damn long.

I won't' say "Happy New Year" to you .... because I remember how much I hated hearing "Happy" anything ..... for quite a while.
But I will wish you comfort and peace and wonderful memories to treasure.
And I will remind you that you are NOT alone.
And that your grief will get easier to carry.
One day at a time.

looking backwards - looking forwards

This is a mash-up of two blogs I posted on my personal blog on December 31 and January 1....

Goodbye 2011

Goodbye gripping sadness

Goodbye anger

Goodbye fear

Goodbye bad habits

Goodbye worry

Goodbye self-doubt

Goodbye hurt

Goodbye pain

Goodbye tiredness

Goodbye nastiness

Goodbye negativity and negative people

Goodbye self-loathing

Goodbye depression

Goodbye financial stress

Goodbye guilt

Goodbye caring what others think

Goodbye uncertainty

Goodbye bad luck

Goodbye deep grief

Goodbye 2011

Hello 2012

Hello love

Hello kindness

Hello grace

Hello better health

Hello better fitness

Hello new friends

Hello feeling safe

Hello good things for the kids

Hello confidence

Hello new wealth

Hello increased strength

Hello empathy

Hello good luck

Hello stable career

Hello permanent job

Hello fun

Hello good memories

Hello positivity

Hello learning new things

Hello old love

Hello new love

Hello 2012

Photo from here

Emerging

from here

My latest realization about this process is that somehow I haven't emerged (yet) from this tragedy with a more negative outlook on life. If I had, I think it'd be pretty understandable. And to be honest, I'm not sure how positively I'd handle any additional tragedy in this stage of the process. But based on the progress I've made so far, I can clearly see that I actually have LESS negativity than I had before.

I truly don't know how this is possible. I also don't dare to think that this state of mind will always be. One thing I CAN count on is the roller coaster of emotions this process entails. I might be able to say that I have a positive outlook now, but a minute, day, week, month, or a year or more from now, I might be in a completely different state of mind. However, looking at the past 7 months, I can see how hope was there all along even when I didn't recognize it. It was hope that got me from one day to the next when I wasn't able to sleep, eat or think from the shock. It was hope that things wouldn't always feel as terrible as they did in the first few months that kept me afloat.

And now, it is hope that keeps me from packing it all in and giving up. I have stubborn hope that there's more out there for me. More love, more chances, more joy, more excitement.

There is another part of me that will probably always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. After experiencing what I did in June, I know even more than I did before how bad things can get. I remember a moment in the car on the way to the ER the day Dave was admitted when I said out loud to myself "Lightning CAN'T strike you a THIRD time. The odds are in your favor". Whoo boy was I wrong on that one. So now, there is a tendency to think that the next tragedy is just out there, waiting for me. I'm sure that when (not if, WHEN) life begins to feel peaceful and joyous again, there will be a part of me wondering when the bad stuff will rear its head again.

But, somehow that pig-headed optimism that good is out there for me, has been, overall, winning the fight in my mind and heart. If it hadn't, I don't think I'd have gone to Camp Widow at 2 months out, or made so many new, wonderful friends, or taken a year off of work to sort out my feelings, or run a 5K, or gone to concerts, or considered selling my house and moving or traveled. 

I could easily hunker down and isolate myself in my grief and opt out of life based on what it's dished up for me so far, but I haven't. I haven't settled for a restricted life based on fear and sadness.

This is not to say that decisions I've made or will make are not fear-based anymore, or that I won't do anything out of sheer sadness and grief. I know I will. I also am aware that I will look back on this time and realize that I wasn't fully emotionally stable yet and my mind wasn't yet fully functional.

But, upon reflection, I think I chose life much more often than not. I chose to live life as big as I could manage and plan to continue to do so, whenever I can.

Maybe this was partly due to my inherent will to keep going and kicking ass, but I'm convinced it had a lot to do with how my loved ones held me up when I couldn't hold myself up. Knowing they were there to catch me at every possible turn in this road kept me stronger than if I'd walked alone. There is no doubt in my mind that they were and are crucial to my survival.

However, at the end of the day, it's just me living for me now. The new me is emerging from the ashes. I keep getting little glimpses of perspective on how far I've come and how much farther I have to go. Even if I had spent the last 7 months hiding out in my house, it would be completely understandable. But I didn't. I didn't consider it an option. Some sort of blind and incredibly stubborn will to live kicked in and I chose life and all its inherent fears and beauty.

I am scared shitless, yes.

I'm also not done fighting. Not even close.

I will continue to emerge from this hell as a person who has not had her soul completely crushed. Bruised and battered, and continuously healing, but never crushed.

Hopeful New Year

No tears tonight. (It's New Year's Eve as I write.)

Tonight I celebrate what lies ahead of me. Tonight I take notice of what prior New Year's brought my way. I know that tonight a friend is celebrating a wedding anniversary without her husband. I know that tonight another friend is remembering this as the day she met the husband who is also no longer beside her. Yet knowing each of these women, I'm sure that even if tears are falling, there are beautiful smiles on their faces.

Looking ahead to the new year is our way of projecting hope into our future. For those of us who are widowed hope is not something we can always easily access. Yet for me, at this point in my life, I do have hope, and more of it than expected.

I know that years ago after learning that my husband was terminally ill, I thought I lost hope. Yet, in the days that followed his emergency surgery I found myself accessing hope that I couldn't recognize at first. It was that hope that spurred me on to seek out the right path for us as a couple, and it was that hope that allowed me to not get stuck so deep in my unexpected sorrow. It was also that hope that provided me with two more loving years with the man I gave my heart to.

After losing Michael I felt that once again I had lost all ties to hope. I was not able to see beyond the pain and sorrow, even as the days and months went by. I began to question if my future carried any real meaning. After surviving on scary night I decided to trust that hope was there, even if I didn't recognize it. I made a decision to set off in a new direction, and I trusted that there was something, not necessarily someone, out there for me.

Tonight I sit here in my home, with all the chaos that is included with a house full of kids and pets. I had hoped for a very quiet peaceful night, one like last year, yet it is clearly not what I am to have. The television is blaring, the dogs are running around, I have struggling with a miserable cold, and my new love is at work rather than sitting beside me.

Inside my head I keep hearing Mick Jagger singing these lyrics..."YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT." For those of us who find ourselves seeking out this blog, this is a bit of an understatement.

My point is this, no, I don't believe I got what I wanted. I got more. I got a lifetime of Michael's love. It wasn't my lifetime of love, but it was his. I know that he never stopped loving me, nor I him. I know that loving him gave me so much hope in my future. I know that loving him taught me that sometimes hope takes a different turn. Before meeting Michael I thought love had passed me by. I had somewhat lost hope. He renewed it. In learning that I was soon to lose Michael I thought I had lost hope. Once again, it was renewed. In losing Michael I was sure that I had lost hope. Yet, here I sit, being hopeful once again.

Let's all look forward to a hopeful year. Let's say our thanks for what we had, and let's be open to what the future holds.

Happy New Year.



You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need