Gathering Rosebuds

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying.

                -Robert Herrick

Robin Williams died this week. Too early. He was in pain. Hard for us all out here who didn't know him personally to imagine this, seeing only what he gave us in his performances - so much laughter, so much character, so much life. But he was. Hard not to think about his widow, and his family, suffering this loss in their private, personal lives. And it brings depression to the forefront, this week. So as we mourn the loss of this spectacular talent, maybe there will be some work done, some awareness brought forth, to help someone else in need out there. I think Mr. Williams might be glad of that, if anything else. 

My heart goes out to all who are suffering this debilitating condition. I know there are many causes for depression. I can only speak now as a widow, but I am aware that depression affects many of us. Because loss of a spouse is a terrible, life-changing, tragic event that can send even the strongest of us into a deep and dark abyss. 

Mr. Williams is known for many performances, one of which was a teacher in the Dead Poets Society. In that film, which incidentally also deals with suicide, he teaches his students the meaning of the Latin term carpe diem, or "seize the day", by having them read the poem I quoted above from Robert Herrick. Time, and life, are fleeting. Boy that is sure true.

Lauren Bacall also died this week, of a stroke at age 89. Also immensely beautiful and talented, her death got lost a little in the media, coming so close on the heels to Mr. Williams' unexpected demise. But Ms. Bacall has a story too. She lost her love, Humphrey Bogart, after only 12 years of marriage. She was only 20 when they married; he was 45. I do wonder about her pain after she lost Bogie. I suspect  she never stopped missing him, but looking back on her life, she gathered many more rosebuds, I think.

These are celebrity stories. But they are also personal stories. It doesn't matter how famous someone is, or isn't. It's just true that death affects us. There are a lot of people out there in deep pain and grief that we never hear about. We in the widowed community live with death. We know it. We are scarred by it. We think about it. And we are perhaps not as surprised when other people die. It doesn't make it any easier, if another friend, family member, or even celebrity passes away. But we know: it happens.

Mike gathered a lot of rosebuds in his life. The way he lived, in full love and joy especially in his last years, will never stop resonating for me as I struggle to move forward after his loss. So I am out here myself, attempting to seize as many days as I can. It's not easy. Roses have thorns, for one thing. Because no matter what future happiness I find, I will never stop grieving for Mike. 

I am dating someone I didn't expect, or look for. He is a rose that literally fell into my lap. But there it is. I'm thankful for it, even though it doesn't end the pain of losing my dear Michael. He will always be in my heart. And my new guy knows this. I think some people who knew Mike and me as a couple don't get that...yet. Hopefully some day they will. I can't say I know what will happen in any long term kind of way yet, but I'm just seizing days as they come.

In fact, I'm about to leave on a trip with my new guy. We talked at length about life, how fleeting it is, how important it is for us to try and visit with our parents, to take this trip while we can, while they are still here, and even, while we are still here. Because all our futures are uncertain. We none of us know how long we have. So we are going. We are still new, together, and it's not cheap coming from way out here in Hawaii, but we are going. 

Our primary purpose is to visit with family. Secondary is a chance to rest. To take a break. To get off our rock of an island, to get away from the day-to-day that we've both been dealing with, to see the world a little, maybe to share each other's lives with each other a little more. To gain some perspective on it all.

All I am doing is living, day to day. It's all I can do. There are people out there, people dear to me, who are going through deeply painful losses as well - and I know, that's all they are doing too. Just scraping along. But I hope, little by little, we can all find a new rose now and then, amidst all the pain.

It's all we any of us can do.

Shhhhh....

Shhhh...

You can't see me.

I am an amorphous spirit living within the physical body of the woman I used to be.

I'm not really here.

The mute button has been activated and what you (the world) sees is a woman who wears a lot of pink, who drives a pink car, towing a pink-trimmed trailer around the country.  Perhaps, I think to myself, this pink, my mourning color, is also to ensure that people see me when I feel I've disappeared.

Simultaneously I am outside my body, observing myself, and I am behind the screen of my body, looking out, detached and disconnected.  I am in the TV and the mute button is on so you see a person moving, smiling, laughing....all these things and yet, nothing.

I have no interest in being here in this life.  Quite honestly, life without my husband is exhausting.  Emotionally, I mean.  Anyone can learn the practical stuff and I'm a competent woman and I do all kinds of shit I did when Chuck was alive and I do even more now that he's dead.  (like all of us).

Emotionally though?  Totally different story.  I don't like life without him.  I feel the lack of his energy, the masculine energy and presence, the feeling of fullness that we had together that is glaringly gone.

I'm supposed to care about life, to be grateful that I wake each morning.  I think its supposed to be enough for me that I have our kids and grandkids as my reason for getting up every day.

With the greatest love for our kids and grands...it isn't enough.  My life never revolved around our kids, nor did Chuck's.  Our lives revolved around each other, especially once our 4 grew up and went out on their own, especially once he and I went out adventuring on the road.  We reveled in our time together, he and I.  Our marriage was a passionate marriage.  That was my life.  Chuck and Alison.  We two.

There is no self-pity.  Life happens.  People love, cancer happens, people die.  I am one among many over the centuries.  No violins necessary.

Just a simple statement of fact.  Loving Chuck, being in love with him, was my life.  I was very independent but being in love with him boosted me up among the clouds.  When he died, I did too.  Since then I am only going through the motions of life.

I'm creating a life for myself without him.  I'm being and doing and talking and all that jazz.  I'm on my third trek cross-country.  I'm doing every fucking thing I can to engage in life.  But who you see, who the world sees, is not who is.

Because, you see, I'm not really here.

Wow, What a Widow Brain

source

 

I had intended to write about the crappiness of turning 40 over the weekend as a widow.  How much I wish Ian was here to mark this milestone, and because he's not, I had no real desire to celebrate or really mark the occasion.  But have friends insisting that I do so (so compromised with a very expensive dinner for a small group of friends).

But then I could have burnt the house down on Thursday.

Thanks to widow brain.

................

Thinking ahead to my evening class and my stomach since class crosses my usual dinner time, I put a pot of soup to heat on the stove; something to tide me over.

And promptly forgot about it and headed off to my 3 hour class.



5 hours later, mid-lecture, I remember.  The image of putting the pot on the stove, lighting the flame flashed through my mind, over-riding all attempts of my lecturer to impart knowledge on financial ratios on me.     

And had that horrific, sinking feeling hit.  The adrenalin.  The sick to the stomach feeling.  Very similar to the reality of Ian's illness hitting, in all honesty.

I had the regret of saying to my step-mother some 18 months ago, that at times I wished the house would burn down so I didn't have to make decisions about what to keep and what to toss. 

Ian always said be careful what you wish for.
 
I'm so glad my Dad lives relatively close to my place, so he got a panicked phone call.  He headed over to my place to check it out.  I also called my security company as I have a monitored heat sensor in the kitchen, and  was told that no alarms had gone off.  Whew - that news lessened the stress levels a very little.

Sitting in the taxi back to my dads, where my car was parked, I quickly progress through "this is a disaster, how will I cope", to "both John and I are ok. Even if I've lost all Ian's things, we're both ok" to "well, if it's burnt down, what design will I re-build, or at the very least, insurance will pay for the interior re-paint I've been wanting to get done if there's just smoke damage".

When my dad finally called  (because of course not only did he get every red light, but a freight train at the rail crossing between his and my place), I got the news that the house was very smoky, the soup had converted to carbon, and the saucepan was only good for the bin.  But thankfully no flames or smoke damage; the house just needs a bit of an airing.

And I still need to paint the place myself.

Compounding

(Two posts in a row about song lyrics!)

In the car the other day an Iron and Wine song came on.

I've never paid attention to the lyrics before but suddenly, they penetrated and I heard them for the first time.

It's not a new topic for a song: a soldier at war, missing his wife and kid and finally coming home.

However, I wasn't expecting the twist at the end...

And I want to see my family
My wife and child are waiting for me
I've got to go home
I've been so alone, you see

When I walked through the door my wife she laid upon the floor
And with tears her eyes did soar, I did not know why
Then I looked into her hand and I saw the telegram
Said that I was a brave, brave man but that I was dead

I want to see my family
My wife and child are waiting for me
Got to go home
I've been so alone, you see

I was in tears, like a switch had been turned on. No stopping it. Waves and waves of pain. 

I realized I'd been, again and again in days and months and years after Dave died, all this time, imagining him beyond mourning as a dead person. Either death meant no more experiences anyway because there is no afterlife, or it meant your soul went on somehow, somewhere, but you were elevated to a place where you were at peace with everything. Either way, at least he wasn't hurting like I was. 

Honestly, the thought of Dave somewhere else, some different plane, also grieving his loss, was too much to consider. My sadness took up my whole being. Imagining him somewhere, suffering just as much or more than I was too much to bear and I never allowed the thought. 

But now that I'm no longer acutely grieving, this perversely painful thought took hold thanks to these lyrics. 

What if he was or is in pain, too? And he's beyond my help and I'm beyond his help? In a world unfair enough to take him from me like this, who was I to believe the universe was somehow fair enough to allow at least him to have some peace as a soul? Come on. How ridiculous. I've been fooling myself. Who's to say a spirit, if it exists, can't mourn too?

It doesn't really matter though. It's beyond my ability to know, either way. It's not my job to know. It's my job to heal. I will not torture myself unnecessarily. 

Grief still arises in me like a fever. I don't see it coming and I can't do anything but let it rise in me and then pass through me. I will let it but I won't allow myself to compound it with imaginary pain. 

Whether it's true or not, I'll go on imagining him free from pain, whatever state he is or isn't in now.

I've suffered enough.

Carry On, Phenomenon

It's been a while since I've cried like I did tonight. And it wasn't because of anything profound happening. It was just because of a movie. I went out to see The Hundred Foot Journey. It was a beautiful movie and a well-told story. And I am a big foodie, so I always love a movie that bubbles with a deep, soulful love of food.

The part that really got to me was the young couple of chefs that fall in love. That young, bold, sensual, adventurous, effervescent love of two young ambitious, smart, passionate, kind souls. A lot of the time I honestly forget what that felt like. Sometimes I hate that I can't remember, other times, I'm glad… because honestly it's easier when I can't remember. Less painful. Seeing it up on a screen in front of me though, in these two young people with nothing but life and possibility ahead of them, the knife began to twist.

A few miles out from leaving the theatre, just the right song came on… and then it hit. FULL ON BREAKDOWN.

Immediately I began screaming. In pain. In rage. In agony. Tears throttled from my eyes, pouring down my face. I gripped the steering wheel to his big black truck so tight I thought my hands might cramp up. I could barely see the road - a small, back-country road outside of town - so I ended up at a stop sign and just sat there and screamed and cried and screamed and cried. I screamed WHY!!! And I screamed "you were supposed to be here!!!" and I screamed "NO!!!" over and over again. Until my voice went hoarse. Until the song was over. Those three minutes felt like a lifetime of crying. But really I find that I can only cry in an explosive way like that for just about one song length before I completely exhaust myself. And then the next song came on the radio, and it said…

"You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine.
Just own the night like the 4th of July."

Ignite the light. Own the Night. I know not everyone believes in signs and communication, but I get a lot of really clear ones that have made it impossible to not believe. A lot of them come from songs. Especially when several songs in a row say the same thing. The next song that came on as I drove on home said to me "Don't fight it. Ignite it. There's much ashore… I think it's time you set this world on fire". Well dang! That was a song I'd never heard before. And then the NEXT one, which I'd also never heard before, from some obscure band, said this:

"But the fateful truth burns on and on, and on and on and on and on, on and on
When in doubt you made me stay connected in with the beyond and on
Like when the radio, plays on and on, and on and on and on and on, on and on. 
Carry on!
Carry on phenomenon
So you got the best of me, So amazingly, Carry on!
Carry on phenomenon"



By now, the tears are gone, and my fire is restored. I am smiling softly, with a calm resolve I haven't felt in a while. For a moment I am reminded of his bright spirit and his energetic soul so clearly. He is the one that is always trying to remind me that everything is okay, that he is right here. The one that is always finding ways to tell me to keep going, to own the darkness like only I can do… through my photography and my writing. To set this world on fire with my talent and my heart. He knows that I'll know exactly what it's all about.

Smiling, I say aloud "you're never really going anywhere, are you?" And for a moment, I am reminded that they don't leave us. Not really. They are always here, trying to help guide us and encourage us and comfort us in all sorts of ways. Trying to remind us that it's okay to carry on, it's okay to embrace life again and live boldly and shine our brightest, because we won't be doing it without them. They're going to be by our side the whole time.

The green-eyed monster

Source

On my good days, I can look at some of the qualities I’ve seen in myself since my husband died and feel proud of how I’ve handled this pain.  For example, I see a lot more strength and resilience in myself now.  I see a compassionate person, a sensitive person, and someone wiser who can focus on the bigger picture rather than get angry or stressed out over small matters.

However, on my bad days, I also see things in myself that I have to confess, I’m not proud of.   This is hard to admit but I thought I’d write about it today, because I'm guessing I might not be alone.

There has been a story circulating in the media this week about an elderly couple in California who had been married for more than 60 years and died four hours apart.  It is a beautiful story and they sound like a lovely family. I want to clarify up front – I don’t begrudge anyone a long and happy life, I’m sure if we had a choice, we would all chose to go this way. 

However as I read the various articles about how this couple were so in love, that their love was so strong and pure, they died together because they couldn’t bear to be apart, I felt some strange emotions.  The story claims that they were ‘supposed to be together’ and that the man loved his wife so much, that when she passed away, he left with her.  It was being hailed as 'the ultimate love story'. 

As a young widow who lost my husband after six weeks of marriage, this story just made me feel sad.  For a start, I'm jealous – I wish I’d had longer with Dan and that we’d gone together peacefully, at an old age, surrounded by our grand children. 

Secondly, I felt like by comparison, I should conclude from this story that that any couple that DOESN’T die together, just didn’t quite love each other as much.  Now, I know that is not what was intended.  I am aware that my feelings come from a place of hurt and I am over-sensitive to the situation.  I also know that the love I have for my husband was pure and strong and could not be questioned, compared or judged.  This negative view is not a great way to look at something that was meant to be a happy story.  But it is how I felt.

Which then lead me to question what is wrong with me!?  I am not an angry, bitter, person, I don’t want to resent the happiness of others.  What a terrible way to be.  Since Dan’s death I have tried very hard not to wallow too long in self-pity but instead, to focus on the blessings in my life that I can remain grateful for.  However, sometimes, now and then, I have a day where I can’t escape the thoughts of ‘this just isn’t fair!!’ and envy is an emotion that I have to work hard to keep in check. 

With so many of my friends sharing my early 30’s age bracket, it seems like there’s a new pregnancy or engagement announcement almost every week.  I love my friends and don’t expect them to put their lives on hold just because mine came to a grinding halt, but it’s also so hard to keep my sadness in check and be happy for them when I see them celebrating milestones that I am supposed to be sharing with Dan.  It really does hurt so much.  I remind myself that I can’t compare my situation to others’ and I will have a reason to smile again some day.  But it is a constant painful battle. While I'm using every ounce of energy to smile and be supportive in public - because that's what they deserve - in the privacy of my bedroom at night, sometimes I cry and wail and just feel so angry at the world and jealous of my friends.  

These are feeling I've heard my widow friends speak about too (cautiously, like they're waiting to be judged or condemned) so I know I'm not the first person to feel this way.  It's interesting how we feel such guilt at these emotions, rather than acknowledging the effort we are putting in to attend other people's weddings, baby showers and anniversary celebrations with a smile plastered on our faces.  I realised this week that we are walking an impossible road and sometimes I need to give myself a break rather than place the added burden of guilt on my shoulders for how I’m handling it.

I don’t like these feelings and I don’t like being the person who isn’t happy for others. However in my heart I know it’s not a major character flaw that I need to be concerned about.  I’m not a bad person.  I’m grieving – and that brings with it all kinds of emotions and feelings, mostly negative.  I realise it’s ‘natural’ for those of us who’ve had our future and our happiness ripped away to feel upset about it, so I try not to panic too much when the envy creeps in because I’m determined not to let it linger or make me bitter.

Luckily it doesn’t happen very often.  The majority of the time I can genuinely feel happy for the people around me who are making the most of their lives and celebrating the love that we all should get to experience.  I want to continue to focus on the positives where I can, but I need to be patient with myself on the days that it’s just too difficult.  

Party of One

I go to a lot of places alone.
I have never had a problem with spending time alone, even before my husband died.

I moved out of small town Massachusetts when I was 18 years old, to NYC, to go to Theatre school and pursue a career in acting and comedy. After having roommates for years on end, I lived by myself for 4 years in an apartment in New Jersey, before my husband moved in with me. I have been to countless movies by myself in my lifetime. I have no issue with going to a cafe and sitting down for lunch, by myself.

There are some things I wouldn't do alone, just because they seem extremely lame and I would absolutely look like a complete loser if I was alone doing those things. Like going to an amusement park. I would never stand in line for a ride and then get on a roller coaster all by myself, with nobody else to speak to the entire day. That seems weird. Or a concert. Standing and cheering and singing a band's hit songs, by myself, seems a bit pathetic. However, if it was someone I really truly wanted to see, and the only way I could go was if I went alone - then I would go. It just wouldn't be my first choice.

When Don first died, those first few months, I hated being alone suddenly. Even though I had always been alone and it had never bothered me, all of a sudden I would fall into a panic and start breathing fast and feel really clausterphobic if left alone for too long. I felt suffocated by the silence and the empty space that filled the air where he used to breathe. Whenever I was alone in our apartment, it was as if someone had turned up the speakers on his death, and I couldn't turn them down. I tried to disappear out of that apartment, and into social gatherings with other people. Everywhere I went those first 5 or 6 months, I was not there.I couldnt be home, and I couldnt be out.  I was not anywhere, for a very long time.

Then a funny thing started to happen. Well, it isn't really "ha ha" funny, but more interesting-funny, in a silent and subtle kind of way. That same clausterphobic feeling I was getting those first few months being alone in my apartment - I was now getting whenever I was around groups of people for too long. There was no warning either. I'd be fine one second, and then literally the next second, would have the urge to scream at the top of my lungs: "I NEED TO GET THE F**K OUT OF HERE - NOW!!!" It was as if being around other people amplified his being gone and dead forever. Other people were happy. Laughing. They had partners and families and kids and giggled as they shared ice-cream cones and walked along merrily. I was dying inside, and all the people of the world were ignoring it.

Now, 3 years later, I am alone quite a lot. I have a roommate, and I have lots of good friends, and I have family. But, even so, there are lots of times when my friends are busy with their families or their partners - and my own family lives 4 hours away. Sometimes, if I want to take a walk and go get a cup of coffee or have a drink somewhere, I will just go. By myself. It's not a big deal in NYC. Literally, nobody cares or even notices. Lots of people sit with a book or playing on their phones, alone. It's very normal. But despite that, it has taken me 3 years to be able to sit alone in public, without feeling like I must somehow have a giant sign on my head that reads: "LONELY WIDOW. I AM ALL ALONE. LOSER. "

There are many times when I am alone nowadays, that it brings a certain sense of peace or clarity. Just looking at a sunrise or at something in nature. Hearing a piece of music and really paying attention. Breathing in the silence, which no longer carries his death in it with every inhale. Many times, I feel closest to my husband, when I am by myself somewhere. Sometimes, I will even sort of pretend that he is there with me, or I will just feel somehow that he is there with me. It's not the same as having him there with me. How could it be? But it does offer a strange sort of odd comfort that can't really be explained to other humans.

On Saturday I am going to a Yankee game by myself. This was one of our favorite things to do together - see the Yankees play. A friend of mine who has connections at the stadium was able to score me a ticket for Saturday's game, where they will be honoring Paul ONeal, my all-time favorite player. He could only get me this ticket BECAUSE I am alone. It was a single ticket. If you go into a very busy restaurant and large parties are waiting to be seated, you can almost always go right up to the front and say "Is there a wait for one?", and they will almost always say: "Right this way." That happened the other day, when I was walking back to the subway in the city, after having just gone to see a friend of mine who was starring in an off-broadway show. I went by myself to the show, because none of my other friends could go. Afterwards, I was hungry, so I went into this cafe and ate something. They seated me in the corner, and right next to me was a large party of young friends, maybe 12 of them. I kid you not, the very second that I sat down - one of the guys stood up and said triumphantly: "A toast to Cynthia, who is celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary today!!!" Everybody clapped, and a sharp dagger went through my heart. 3 years later, and it still hurts. It silently hurts to watch total strangers celebrating 25 years of marriage that I will never ever get to have. Oh boy does that hurt.

It hurts so much that I think I need to order me up some chocolate cake and a cup of coffee. And in that moment, I am happy to be alone, because that cake is all for me. GET UP OFF OF MY CAKE!!!