Contentment

On vacation with the kids in Ixtapa, Mexico. My financial struggle having just ended. Not sure what to write about it. After all the months, (years really) After ALL these months of anger, sadness, resentment, hopelessness, joy, surprise, discovery, light, regret and hope, I find myself at odds with ……dare I call it, contentment.

I’m not sure. I don’t feel overjoyed to be here. I don’t feel sadness either. I’m not worried (other than Langston is not feeling to hot and we’d need a translator if we were to see a doctor). I don’t need anything. I don’t need alcohol or drugs or a distraction. I don’t feel like I need a man. (Club Med does a most excellent job, though, at hiring these 21-30 year old pieces scrumptious eye candy!)

I feel nothing. I don’t feel dead inside. I just feel at peace and it’s startling. And I wonder is this what normal feels like?

Before his illness and before his death I spent much of my time in my head, scared, worried, putting a negative spin on the future. I spent much of the time trying to prove myself, trying to live up to the person I thought all these people expected me to be. My expectation being way beyond what anyone wanted. My expectation for perfection was impossible. It was murderous and it almost killed me several times.

Here in this place, sitting in an outdoor patio in Ixtapa, listening to the waves, the wind whipping my hair around and bringing in the nightly rain storm, I find myself calm. It’s unfamiliar and it’s uncomfortable. Like a new hair cut and every time I walk by a mirror I am surprised because I expect to see the old me.

I have spent the week doing nothing, a 100% complete impossibility before Art died. I tried to work. I tried to get the kids to eat vegetables. Andthen I didn’t know why I was making myself or them do it. I had no words of judgment wagging in my head so I let them eat ice cream, a lot of it and put my computer away.

Instead, I entered an archery competition and end up DFL (dead fucking last) and still talked trash to the others in the competition. I told the kids I lost and saw their puzzlement at my not caring. I butchered the Spanish language multiple times a day! I kayaked, I rock climbed, I did yogalates and swam in the ocean. I napped, I read and I napped again. I ruined and brand new bathing suit with the fine gritty sand of Ixtapa and some sunscreen. I discovered the joy in having a glass of wine, late at night in the reception area where I can listen to the soothing music and the ocean waves and just think about … nothing.

And it’s the thinking of nothing that has me so puzzled. After these years, the pain, the willing, the missing, the pushing, the discomfort, the disliking of myself, the ‘nothing’ is just weird and wonderful. I feel settled. Not complete, not whole, not done, just settled, like a huge ass oak tree.

I will not always feel this kind of contentment. It may be that I am seeing my circle of concern and circle of influence are closer together. I no longer seek to control all that I cannot.

I am a widow, I am a mom, I am a business person, I am an athlete (re-inspired by the trapeze and the archery to begin working on that again). And I am dying. We all are. And all this makes sense to me and brings me hope and courage and the knowledge that no matter what I feel, it will pass. It will pass. There is contentment in that.

Art’s life passed. And damn it all, just damn, damn, damn, damn it all. This powerful gift of my growing into myself, of the discovery and comfort of who I am and who I am not, of understanding the power of loss, is because of his death. It’s all because his last great gift to me was his death.
The gift that truly keeps on affecting me, like a pebble in a pond.

1157

One restless night of blog surfing, I saw someone post the exact number of days since they lost their soul mate.

I must admit, I stopped long ago in counting the exact days and months since Michael was killed. Knowing such numbers, especially in the never-ending days in the beginning of my grief, seemed like mental suicide. As much as I'm a believer that each day on earth is a day closer to them in heaven, I couldn't fathom marking and taking note of each day without him...that is a loss in my being that no month, date, calendar, or clock can construe.

Yet I admit, as I stared at the widowers days numbered, I was tempted to find out my own. I found a site that allowed me to find out the duration from date to date...

"Submit" was clicked.

1157 days can be converted to one of these units:

* 99,964,800 seconds
* 1,666,080 minutes
* 27,768 hours
* 165 weeks (rounded down)

I stared at the numbers.

I wasn't numb. I wasn't in shock. I simply looked at them, shook my head, and closed the page.

As much as I can't believe that it has been that long since everything happened (and had I been earlier out I may have had a different reaction) I've learned one thing above all;
In 1157 days I have struggled, cried, given up, stood back up, laughed, smiled, grown, cried some more, scorned the heavens above, thanked the heavens above, given up on life, taken back my life, fallen to my knees...prevailed.

I look at 1157 with pride, not pain.

I have survived 1157 days without my soul mate physically here. I have fallen deeper in love with the man who took a new form and shown me a new perspective on our amazing relationship and my new life.

Just as I couldn't count the days or months these past 3 years because I felt that no number would ever bring back my love or erase the heartache felt because of his death...no number or date can be put on the length and depth of our love...but when I am given the chance (or the curiosity) to see a number, it will be one that reminds me of the strength born from both of those things.

My name is Taryn Davis. My life ended 1157 days ago....but in the last 1157 days it has come back from the dead...stronger then ever...fueled by the essence of any life...the knowledge that is has true love on its side.

When Will You Be Done?

Lately I have been asked by more than one person when I think I might be done with this whole, "widow thing." Hmmm...done. Well I guess that depends on the definition of done.

See the thing is, I will always be widowed. Remarriage doesn't erase my widowhood. Being happy doesn't erase the memories I have of lying in bed dry heaving as I screamed in agony over the news that the man I loved was dead. Loving a different man doesn't make me stop loving Phil. There is no such thing in my mind as replacement, and I can't figure out what done would look like.

Maybe I struggle with this concept because I have fallen into the trap of being done more than once. The first year was done, which meant all those awful firsts were done, right? I have lived through five holiday seasons without Phil which means I am done being sad that he can't complain about all the Christmas boxes, right? Phil hasn't ever stepped foot into the gym I now belong to, which means I am done thinking I saw him around that corner, right? Here's the big one, I will be getting married in seven weeks, so I should definitely be done, yes? Done crying? Done mourning? Done wishing Phil weren't dead? Not exactly, because done and healing or healed are not the same thing for me. Happiness, rebuilding, getting married, facing the world with a little different shade of lens...all these things coexist with my widowhood.

One thing I am done with is trying to predict the course of my life. I can promise you that I never thought I would lead a group of widowed people through an amazing weekend designed expressly for them. I never thought my kids would understand the nuances and subtleties of grief before they reached adulthood. And I definitely never would have imagined that I would walk down the aisle of the grocery store wearing a tee shirt that I created simply stating,"Death Sucks."

What I know for sure is that my widowhood has changed me. I can't tell you if or when I will be done, but I can say with confidence that I will never again be the same.

hindu temple

today you went to

your first muslim mosque

(just realized i didn’t take any photos of that)

as well as your

first hindu temple.

you met a ton

of very friendly

people and learned a

little bit about

cultures other

than your own.

don’t worry…

i don’t expect you

to remember everything

you learned today.

we’ll come back

here a lot

as you get older,

and over the years

you’ll learn it all.

i’m pretty sure

you’re gonna be smarter

by age 10 than

i am at 31

(almost 32).

and for that,

i will be most

proud of you.

I Am Pissed ....

..... please forgive my crassness. Since Jim died I haven't had anyone around to give me a disapproving glance for unladylike language so ....... it's been much more difficult to be ladylike.

I think it goes with the experience.

Deep breath here. This will be one of those honestly honest posts.

I'm not sure who should take the deep breath .... you or me.

So .... yesterday was the two-week mark of my four week 'weaning off of the depression meds' trial.

Yesterday was also the day that I ended the trial.

I gave up.

Threw in the towel.

Waved the white flag.

Took the full dose.

And I'm pissed.

And sad .... but I've been past sad for a number of days.

I'm pissed .... not just because I 'couldn't do it' ..... but because this is yet another thing that has changed since he died.

Something else that I did not ask for.

Something else that I did not have to deal with "before".

Something else I didn't get to vote on.

And something else that will be with me for the rest of my life.

Damn it.

In my "non-depressed" body I can tell you that this is not that big of a deal.

I can tell you that my body needs these meds for a chemical imbalance ..... much as it needs medication for my inherited high cholesterol.

I can tell you that it's not a weakness, but a strength to know that I need this and to take it.

But I haven't been in my "non-depressed" body for a while. Things started to tank last week, though I worked very hard at hiding it .... and did a fairly good job (I was a Theatre major :) )

The only sure outward sign was my fingernails. A few friends know that my fingernails reveal the state of my emotional health.

My nails are a wreck. I spent the last week chewing and biting. And since I have solar nails .... it's a pretty difficult (and ugly) process.

I'd take a picture and upload it .... but it would make small children cry.

(Now that I've told you this little secret I know that a hundred or so of you will be checking my nails next week in San Diego. Don't worry .... I'll have them fixed by then. :) )

The inward signs were worse.

I started having those thoughts that one tends to have when spiraling down that hole.

They're like voices in your head that become more than thoughts .... they become reality.

Some of you know what I'm talking about.

"I'm so tired of living like this."

"I don't make a difference so why be here?"

"The kids ... and everyone else .... would be better off without me."

"I will never be happy again."

"This was not supposed to be our life."

Of course they are not reality .... but when you're in that inky blackness, reality is not what it should be.

I tried to fight it off.

I tried to deny it was coming back.

I thought that it would go away if I could just wait it out.

But .... after an exceptionally bad weekend .... I slowly decided to stop fighting.

Slowly.

It's not easy to stop the spiraling once you're in it.

But I had encouragement from a wonderful blog friend who saw what was happening.

And I've been blessed (each time this has happened) to be able to peer out of the spiral long enough to know I had to take action .... and have had just enough strength to act.

This was the last time.

There is no more choice.

I will be on these meds for the rest of my life.

This is proof that I really am a different person now.

The "before me" seemed to have balanced chemicals in her brain (or at least thought she did!).

The "after me" does not.

Another change.

Fortunately, the meds are slowly starting to kick in.

I know that this was a good decision.

I know that I am not weak, even though my emotions haven't totally caught up with reality yet.

I know that I matter.

I know that my children need me.

I know enough to be unable to imagine the pain and damage they would suffer if I suddenly "weren't here".

And I know that Jim would be proud of me.

He'd be proud of my strength.

The strength I found in the middle of my very dark weakness.

Yes, I am different now.

But in some ways .... I am better.

Yes, I have to take meds to stay healthy .... in more than one area of my body.

But I'm ok with that.

Now.

Finally.

Maybe I'm not so pissed after all.

:)

Quiet the Mind (Rest in the Riddle - part 5001)

I had a little time to check in with me, myself, and I this weekend. Not as much as I could have used, but I did get a few moments of serenity. I sat on a balcony, watched golfers pass by, listened to a waterfall, and enjoyed the lazy circling of a wasp in search of its nest. I wasn't alone for this moment of relative stillness, and I'm certain the person sitting next to me thought I was uncharacteristically quiet. I was just drinking it in.

It's interesting to hear my own thoughts in these rare moments. I heard contentment, and also fear that it won't last (something always happens, doesn't it?). I heard thoughts of stress and how to deal with it better, and annoyance at the amount of responsibility in my life. I heard a wish that I was 16 and someone else had to do all the heavy lifting for me. If only! :)

The contentment and fear caught my attention, the other thoughts are there pretty frequently, I mean sometimes being the grownup just sucks. It is what it is. Contentment on the other hand, that's a more rare thought. It has eluded me in the past, but I'm really feeling it now. It's frightening. I'm not sure I know what to do with it. I'm trying to go with it, not over think it. My widow brain resists. I find it hard to let go and just enjoy it, I want to know how and when it will end.

I'm filing away those thoughts, in a safe place for consideration, but not daily review. I mean, what does it really matter? Knowing the end of the story doesn't mean you can skip all the steps to get there. You still have to get to the end via the path you are intended to take. I'm not in a rush to get to the end, so I'm just going to savor (even if it scares me) the moments as they come.

Happy Tuesday! - Michelle D.

Grief, Parenting, and Coping

Parenting is both overwhelmingly rewarding, and unrelentingly challenging. Some days we glow with pride at the accomplishments of our little angels; other days we may wonder how our best laid plans went awry. Sharing parental duties with a wonderful partner definitely helps manage the roller coaster ride we call parenthood…there is someone to discuss options with, another person who loves the kids as much you do to listen to your rant about their current behavior, an additional carpool driver, and someone else to go over the math homework.

But for widowed parents the time we have to raise our children with the person we love is cut tragically short. For widowed people with children the common concerns of parenthood are eclipsed by the shadow of grief. Questions of which diaper to use are replaced by fears of whether our kids will remember mommy or daddy. Some children’s first written words are, “Why did my daddy or mommy have to die?” Nine year olds may apply the extra emotion of loss to the smallest disappointment leading to angry tantrums fueled by missing their other parent. Teenage angst, scary territory under the best of circumstances, is greatly complicated by the tumult of death and loss. Perhaps the heaviest weight for widowed parents to carry is the fact that we often provide the road map for our children that shows them how to grieve. Do we cry? Do we say our loved one's name? Do we remember aloud? Do we continue our regular routines? Do we shut down, speed up, or spin in place?

I am continually amazed at the fact that widowed parents must survive the searing pain of losing a partner, and also assume the role of only parent. Each family’s route to healing is unique, but some common themes may help pave the way. Seek a compassionate family counselor. Join a group that addresses death and grief in age appropriate forums. Find ways to help your children store their memories. Honestly access your financial situation. Accept help when it is offered. Know that you have limits and you have needs. Allow your friends and family to drive carpool, help with homework, and buy groceries; they want to help. Try to arrange time away from the kids to sob and rage without witnesses. Cry in the shower. Know that children grieve in a new way at every developmental stage. Live in the moment and try to let tomorrow take care of itself. And finally, laugh, play, paint, watch a funny movie, blow bubbles~ let the inherent joy of your children be a balm for your family soul.