Goodbyes

"I hate goodbyes" Every time Dave and I would say goodbye for more than a day or so, we'd reenact this scene from Dumb and Dumber.

I'm in the disorienting world of goodbyes again as I navigate the end to the first real relationship I've attempted since Dave died. Fortunately I have the most amazing friends who have helped keep me afloat but the sadness is right there at the margins, waiting to take over if I stand still long enough. I'm beaten down and tired of goodbyes and of crying until my eyes are alarmingly swollen. I've become almost fascinated with the levels of redness and swelling my eyes have achieved in the last few days. I'm thinking of documenting it for a medical journal.

A friend is also facing the end of a relationship and we were talking about breakup basics: how to know you've tried hard enough and it's time to let go, how to know someone is "the one", previous embarrassing relationship mistakes. I found myself explaining how I knew Dave was TRUE partner material for me. I had so many stories of how I knew he was my one, that finally it dawned on me. If it is to happen again for me, I will recognize it when it comes. It will be obvious. It will not be hard to figure out. DUH.

Shortly after meeting him, my grandmother had a stroke and did not recover. I hadn't been especially close with her, but I called this brand new guy in my life and said "I'm not sure why I'm calling you, because I'm not even that sad, but my grandma just died". He hung up relatively quickly, and I thought maybe he just was too uncomfortable with emotion to handle it. A few minutes later, he was on my doorstep, out of breath, because he'd run to me, across campus, in the middle of the night just to be by my side. I didn't know how sad I was until his presence on my couch next to me allowed me to open up.

It was also how he turned to me for comfort that I noticed early on. I picked him up at his dorm one afternoon and he was running a temperature. Through the afternoon, his flu got worse and he let me baby him and allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with me. He was deeply grateful for my presence so I felt needed and wanted from the start.

It's THAT I want again one day. It's that knowing that I miss. Knowing he was there for me and would allow me in to be there for him too. It was his dedication to me and the way I felt at ease around him. I slept better and my grades improved when I met him.

Our relationship had its rough edges we continually worked on polishing and was not for a moment perfect, but it was a safe and welcoming place to always return to. I have to remember that I deserve to have that again and nothing short of that is worth my love.

I miss that guy of mine so much. There is a feeling of safety and home I haven't felt since he left this earth. I hope I can find that again one day and I hope it's possible to find it even if I don't find another partner. I don't want to depend on another to provide that feeling, but so far, without Dave, it hasn't returned. I'm not sure how long it'll take to have it again. I'm not sure if it's possible to have it without a partner. Biologically, maybe, having the best friend/life partner/soul-mate in my life, is what makes it possible to feel that way. I'm not sure. I wasn't afforded that feeling growing up so I'm not sure if I just lack it because of that and I can create it myself, or if this is just the natural urge to be partnered up. It's also hard to figure out if I'm just feeling left out of what society deems most important - making a family.

What I know is that I have a ton of love to give. The man who might earn that love again will be one lucky guy. I also know that apparently, I'm capable of risking love again. A fear I had right after Dave died was that I'd shut down my heart completely after what I'd been through. In some ways I've been protective of my heart, but mainly, I haven't shut down and become locked inside my fear of loss.
It may dictate some of my actions and MANY of my thoughts, but mostly, I fought those fears and opened up again.

This didn't end the way I'd hoped, but it ended the way I needed. I can't see far enough ahead to know why I needed this, but I suspect it was to teach me how to get what I want. No, not just how to get it but how to believe I deserve it. It happened to teach me not to be ashamed of my needs. That my needs are not too much for someone. They're just needs, like everyone has. It's teaching me that my baggage is fine. Everyone has it and I'm actively working on mine, preparing myself to be able to be present in a relationship, if that is to happen to me again. I have a feeling an older me will be very clear on all of that.

I had a dream a few nights ago that I was going to move into a new place and I was getting my first look at it. It was stunningly beautiful and seemed to be plucked right out of my imagination's idea of the home for me. It wasn't perfect but it was perfect for me. The view from the bedroom was the most beautiful view I've ever seen. I felt lucky, safe and so excited to know this place was mine. I kept feeling a "I get to have all of this?!" shock run through me.

When I woke up I could remember the dream in more detail than I usually can. It only took a few moments for me to work out the message of this one. The new home represents what I deserve, what I can hope for - blissful happiness again. It's out there somewhere and it's not just something some people have and I don't, it's mine to have, period, because I deserve it. I don't know why it's mine to have or why I deserve it. I had it before and it was taken from me, but it's still mine to have somehow, somewhere. I CAN desire it, hope for it and find myself worthy of it. I don't have to keep thinking that the great stuff only happens to everyone else. It can happen to me too.

It's infinitely easier (and much more sad) to give up hope for that kind of happiness. Not hoping for it, swearing it off forever, means that if by some crazy miracle it happened, I'd be happily surprised, and if it didn't, I'd have no hopes built up that would be shattered again. But I guess I'm kind of stubbornly hopeful and continue to hope even though it scares me so much and I half wish the hopes would quit whispering to me.

So, I'm saying goodbye and that hurts and I'm flooded with regret and shame and feelings of rejection, but I also know that I needed this. I needed to be reminded of what I can hope for.  There's no guarantee I'll find it, but that doesn't mean that I don't deserve the very best.

The blissful feeling I felt once when I was deeply loved. That. That's what I deserve.

Checking Out

I have known for a while I suffer from widow brain. Can’t find my keys, barely remember what day it is or what my name is. I have looked for my car keys for twenty minutes only to find they were in my hand.. the whole time. I have to set reminders in my phone from things like taking my sleeping pill to grab my lunch out of the fridge before leaving for work. I have to have a reminder for everything.

Lately I have noticed a new side effect of widowhood. I guess it goes along the lines of widow brain. Maybe I have always had it and I’m just becoming more aware of my “issues.”

I can be talking to someone and a smell, sound or memory side tracks me. I check out. It’s like I step out of my body all together. The noise around me stops. All I can hear is my thoughts. While I can see the person I was talking to still talking to me, I can’t hear them or comprehend what they are saying.

I check out and go down memory lane. I leave the person talking while I take my brain elsewhere.

The memories start clicking before my eyes. Noise, smells, memories, it’s like an old projector playing a movie of my life. Bits and pieces of my life. Jumbled together, skipping from scene to scene and back again.

Eventually my check out stops. The noise around me comes whooshing back and I can hear the conversation again.. but I have no clue what they just talked about.

I’m sure I just stare at them with a blank face, not realizing I am looking at them, because I can only see the movie of my life in front of my eyes.

I find myself asking people to repeat themselves constantly and I can tell some people grow frustrated with me.

I have been trying to stop checking out when I am with someone. But it seems to be an automatic thing my brain does. There seems to be no control over it.

I have accepted I can’t control it.. so I’m taking the other side of things.

If you are with a widow and they seem to have checked out in middle of a conversation, here’s some tips.

First – Stop talking. Don’t take it personal. They are trapped behind a movie screen of their life and have no control over what is flashing in front of their eyes. Just stop talking and let them be checked out for a while.

When they come back, ask if they are okay.

Then start your conversation over and act like the check out never happened.

Don’t blame them for not being present. Don’t tell them they aren't listening.

Please be patient with people that are suffering from widow brain and checking out. While it is frustrating to you, it’s even more frustrating to the person that is widowed.

Please remember we have no control over what our brain automatically does. As much as we like to think we have it under control, the truth is most the time we don’t realize we have nothing under control.

Load

It was one day after the one year mark of losing him.

I was on a plane to Spain.

One backpack in tow. Two sets of clothes. Euros. Some photos. My feet.

225 miles to hike on unknown terrain that had no map, but seashells in the ground as markers or random arrows painted on tree trunks.

But before that  flight and the pilgrimage, came the preparation.


Let's just say that I was not a hiker.

Let's just say that going to REI was like walking into a baby nursery...I had no clue what the heck I was doing.

I improvised.

Used the knowledge of those that knew a bit more about backpacks, hiking boots and the best underwear to wash in a sink.


When packing, I tried to keep it to the minimum of all needed. Heck, I even was smart enough to not pack a warm jacket (said no one EVER).

From what I had read from past pilgrims, you'd end up with a lighter load by the time you'd reach Santiago (the destination).

It was the journey of a lifetime. A journey that kept me from any distractions (which had a way of being an escape from my harsh reality), and put me smack dab in a room with my thoughts and emotions as I hiked in silence 12 hours a day.

I had no preconceived notions on what the journey would consist of or do for my soul, and that ended up being my most valuable tool to carrying the load on my back and in my heart.


I came across those on the camino that came into it with different expectations.

They wanted to be healed. Cured.

They wanted it so bad that each hope for it all to disappear. was like throwing a rock into one's pack.

It weighed them down.

Broke them down.

Until arriving to a place of anger and resentment for the journey that they expected to take their load off of them.

Never realizing that it was our duty to adjust our pack as nature and heart told us.


The camino changed my life.

It changed my perspective on how to live in the now.

To know that everything you need will come at the right moment for your heart (not when your mind tells you it needs it).


By the end of my 20 days in Spain, the other pilgrims were correct.

I had less in my backpack.

I had dumped the unnecessary to see the true essentials, and without even realizing it,  done the same for my soul.


We'll all take many journeys in our time and it's our duty to create a load that we have unwavering faith that we can carry...because we can...we will...we just need not to anticipate what that load will bring us.

<p style="text-align: center;"><em> “It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it.”-Lena Horne </em></p>

Chicken Noodle Soup

There is nothing that will make you feel quite as tiny and insignificant in the universe as when you are completely alone in a room, choking. 

Nothing drives home the very smallness and randomness of your purpose here on Earth, than almost being taken out by some chicken noodle soup.

Yup. You heard me. You read that correctly. On Monday, October 21st, this week, I almost died. For real. I was very, very close to choking so badly, that I could no longer speak, breathe, or function. Very, very close. 

It all began innocently enough. I was sitting here in my home office, where I am right this minute, where I do all of my many writing assignments and projects. I'm in the middle of writing a book about my husband, and our love story, and the brutal and often hilarious truths about grief. In addition to that, I also write a monthly humor article for Modern Widows Club Magazine, and I write weekly funny TV reviews of shows like Dancing With the Stars for an entertainment and pop culture site called poptimal. Then, of course, I write here at Widows Voice, and I write in my own personal blog too, which is what I was doing on Monday when I almost died. 

So there I was. A widow, writing one of her many widow-related assignments in the middle of the day, just an hour before leaving for the city for my weekly grief-counseling session. I was just getting over the flu or a really terrible cold, so I had picked up this really yummy chicken noodle soup they have at a nearby deli on my block. Their soup is very good, as Ive had it before, and I wanted something to soothe my throat as my appetite hadn't fully returned yet. So there I sat - sipping my soup and writing my widow words - when suddenly, instantly, shockingly - something extremely sharp and painful got stuck in the exact middle of my throat. 

I felt my face flush red as I pushed back from my chair at lightning speed. Somehow, I thought the object may be far enough back that I could finish swallowing it, so I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and drank fast, trying like hell to get it down. It remained in the worst part of my throat possible, and it was soooo sharp. It felt like there was a needle or a thin piece of wood splint inside my throat. My insides made scary noises and I gasped for air as I leaned forward over my kitchen counter, trying to recall the lessons that my paramedic husband had given me on how to give myself the Heimlich Maneuvre if I ever needed to. Why didnt I listen??? What did he say??? How do I save myself??? Somehow, I panicked and took action at the exact same time, not having a clue what I was doing or why. My eyes watered and I coughed and coughed and coughed, and then continued to try and push the foreign object out of me, hoping and begging and praying that it would shoot out of my person like some animated alien, emerging out of the dark. 

You know, it is absolutely stunning how many billions of unrelated, disconnected, anxious thoughts can go through one's brain, while simultaneously choking and gasping for air. As I struggled to stay alive over my kitchen sink, this was my ridiculous inner-monologue: 


This is it. Im dying today. This is how it all ends. Just like my poor husband. Collapsing. Alone. Where are my kitties? When did I feed them? Oh shit, they need water in their bowl. Where is my phone? I have to call 911. But I cant speak. There is a glass window inside my throat. That is what it feels like. It feels like an ice-pick. WHAT THE HELL IS IN MY THROAT??? Oh my god, where is my phone? Is it even charged? I dont think its charged. I really should keep it charged. Im going to die right here on this hard kitchen floor. Its dirty. I cant die on a dirty floor. It will be hours before my roommate returns and finds me. Hours. I wonder how she will get my share of the rent next month if Im dead. This is so embarassing. I was eating soup. What the hell did they put in my soup? WHO CHOKES ON SOUP??? I can just see the headline in tomorrows local newspapers: "Widow Chokes and Dies While Writing Widow Blog." Ironic, isnt it? Alannis Morissette would have a field day with this one. Oh who am I kidding? This wont make the NEWSPAPER. Who am I? Im nobody. Im not famous. Wow this is a really long time to be choking. I really think Im dying. This is the end. Shit! I havent even finished my book! I really wanted to see this week's episode of NASHVILLE on my DVR. Dammit! This is really what it was all about? Soup? What is the point of all this? You try and live a life and have goals and dreams, and in the end, you can just disappear in a nano-second, because of soup. What the hell is in this....... 

And just like that, it was over. My gasping and choking and coughing and watery eyes had started to calm down. The last big cough had catapulted the enemy right into the sink, and the enemy was a goddamn bay leaf. Not a big juicy chewy steak or some rubbery calamari, or even some grains of rice. Nope. Not me. This widow almost gets taken out by a friggin' bay leaf. 

I gathered my things and headed into the city to see my counselor, and when I got to her, I asked her to please make me some tea to help soothe my throat, and then I told her my story. I then proceeded to sob for almost the entire session while talking to her. Sobbing about being a few days away from my "would have been" 7 year wedding anniversary. Sobbing about leftover feelings of guilt and regret at the last weeks and months of my husband's life. Sobbing because life is so goddamn fragile, and because I still cannot comprehend that my husband left for work one morning, and never came home. Just like my family wouldn't have been able to comprehend me being taken out by a bay leaf.  

I did learn something though. Something very big. While I was choking on that bay leaf - inside all of those other disconnected thoughts that were going on inside my brain - one thought repeated itself over and over and over, like a chorus: I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die ..... 

A lot of times, after we lose the person we thought we would spend our life with, there are many days and nights and hours, that we just dont feel like living. There have been so many times when I thought to myself: "Wouldnt it just be easier if I could just sleep and not feel this horrible pain?" I didnt want to actively end my life. I would never have done that. But I didnt feel like being alive either. 

However, when you are choking on a bay leaf, and you cant speak words and your face is bright red and you're scared you will lose consciousness, one thing goes through your heart and then travels to your mind and your soul: 

I dont want to die. I want to live. 

There is no way that my life ends at the prickly hands of a bay leaf. 
It ain't happening. 
Try again. 

Actually, please don't. 
Cuz that was really pretty scary. 

what if

In just a couple weeks, I'm coming up on 3 years. That realization along with the hormones of pregnancy has really been a lethal - and emotional - combination. I found this old post from my blog that jumped out at me as something I've been thinking about lately and thought I would share. Maybe someone, somewhere out there might connect with this too.

source

I play this torturous game with myself pretty regularly, where I wonder what I would do if you came back today. I don't mean to play, my mind plays and my heart can't help but join. Every time I think about it, I feel my heart jolt, almost fooling myself into believing it could be possible. But the let down after still hurts every time.


Every time I think about what I would do. What would I say? I imagine myself dropping to my knees, sobbing, in sheer and utter gratitude more powerful than any emotion I've ever felt. I'd hang on to your neck, kiss you, and scan my fingers over your face, soaking in every inch of you, asking you where you've been. I'd tell you how you wouldn't believe the hell we'd been through but it suddenly seemed like nothing with you standing in front of me. Then I'd take you to Carter, so you could finally meet the handsome boy we created.


I often think that if everyone were able to feel this kind of devastation in their hearts without having to suffer the actual loss in reality, it could change the world. It would change marriages, families, relationships. It's ironic the knowledge that comes with loss when you can't use it to appreciate what you no longer have. 


"'What' and 'if' are two words as nonthreatening as words come. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: 'What if?'..." -Letters to Juliet

It does haunt me. Every single day.
I miss you baby.
I love you always.

Drifted Back to NY ......

...... and the relief I felt as soon as I sat down in my seat on the plane yesterday morning was amazing.
It was like I had been carrying 500 pounds on my shoulders (causing a lot of pain in my neck!).  As soon as I dropped into that seat,  all of that weight lifted.
In fact, I was so relaxed that I slept through most of the flight ...... which is a rarity for me.
Carrying all of that weight is exhausting.

Letting go of it is almost exhilarating.

I'm feeling less adrift right now.
Funny, I always feel that way when I'm here.
Always.

Maybe I should stop over-thinking things and just plan on moving here as soon as my house in Texas sells.
Who says I can't change my mind at a later date?
Who says I can't find somewhere else to live if this place turns out to be less than "home"?

It seems so strange that a place so large and so full of strangers ...... feels more like "home" than any other place on earth.
I think it's the freedom I feel when I step off of the plane.

I'm free to be myself ...... and no one's bothered by that here.
No one here knows that I used to be different ...... that I had a "before".

I'm free of the concerns and responsibilities that threaten to pull me under when I'm back there.
I'm free of the memories that lurk in every corner of my house, and on almost every street of my community.

I'm free from the relationships that also used to be different ...... in our "before".
I'm not the only one who was changed by my husband's death.
Not by a long shot.
But I am the one, along with my children, who have to live in it, day in, day out .....
every.
single.
24 hours.

Who knew that freedom would come in a city of over 8 million people?
Not me.
But now that I know ...... I'm accepting it.
And grabbing hold of it with both hands.
And enjoying every second of it.

For as long as it lasts.
:)

Who knows?

When I met Greg, it was at a housewarming party for mutual friends.
He danced with me, brought me drinks, held my hand and at the end of the night, he walked me to my car and kissed me softly.

Years later, we could remember exactly where we were standing when we first clapped eyes on each other.

It was love at first sight.

It was perfect after feeling rather "meh" about previous boyfriends.  I knew I hadn't loved any of them even when I was with them, but as soon as I met Greg, something in me shifted.

That love was so deep that it changed my soul. 

...and something I always appreciated was that I was never in any doubt as to his intentions: he liked me. A lot.
From the first meeting.
.... and he let me know in no uncertain terms. 
That made it really easy for me to tell him I loved him within 6 weeks of meeting him.
...and we fell deeper in love each day after

....and then 17 years later, he died.

But our love didn't.

I've spent every day since his death desperately in love with a dead man.....which, as we all know,  is both beautiful and frustrating at the same time.


It has taken more then 3 years but I finally felt ready to dip a toe into the proverbial waters again. 
For real this time. 
I am ready to find someone new even if I will never let go the love I have for Greg.

....and recently I met someone who has made me sit up and think "hey - this one is nice".

But its not been the same immediate, tumbling-fall into love.

In fact, its nothing more than a new friend:  a pen friend.

But talking to a male who is single (widowed) and clever and  who gets me is ..... alright. 
Its good actually.  
It is slow and steady with lots of words over a long distance.
I look forward to his nightly emails and I enjoy talking about my day ... my ideas ... with someone who is actually interested in what I have to say.

Maybe it will fizzle out, but maybe it will continue.  Who knows?
 
But whatever happens, knowing that I have made a new friend is a good feeling.... and that's enough for now.

..... the woman inside me has sat up and started paying attention again.