That Which Is Not Here~

We spend our lives with an awareness of our physical bodies.  We dress our bodies, we move our bodies.  Our hands hold other's hands.  Our arms hug.  Our lips meet in exquisite kisses.  Our lips smile and laugh.  Our eyes sparkle as we gaze upon life and our loves.  Our feet dance, in rhythm or not.

Physical presence is a big deal.  It was very much a big deal with me and my husband.  We touched often.  My husband's physical body and presence was measurable in my life.

His absence from my life is just as palpable and I'm uncertain how that might translate scientifically but his absence is, to me, as strong as his presence ever was.  In fact, now that he's gone, his absence is almost stronger than his presence ever was, which causes anxiety in me.  It has seemed, since he died, that he's so gone that its as if he never existed.  Chuck died forever ago, or 10 months.  Long ago and no time at all ago.  

Presence and absence.  My external life has changed drastically since last April 21.  I've changed drastically.  Nothing is the same, either in my external world or my internal soul world.  He disappeared the night he died and my life did too.

And yet.

Weirdly,though, his absence from my life is as tangible and measurable as his presence ever was. An entity that breathes and walks and moves with me as I stumble along.

As the months have passed, because he is so very gone, I've held onto, and purposefully courted, the love he left me.  I cherish his last message to me, left on my phone at my request the week before he died.  I still listen to it with a sense of disbelief that I'm not seeing him say he loves me, that I'll never see him say that to me again.

Those words though.  That love he had for me.  That love I had for him that beats as strongly today as it did for all of the past 24 years.  The love is a physical presence to me now, and co-exists with his absence.

I can't explain how presence and absence can both be real.  It just is.  He is here with me in his absence. 

He loved me.  I loved him.  That is still real.

It was our blessed gift to each other.  

With Chuck for me, for me with him, it was always, always, always, nothin' but Love~

Things that have changed

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At the moment we are in the middle of our city's 'Mad March' that consists of a motorsport carnival, an Arts and a fringe festival, concerts, other sporting events.

Many of these things I used to go to, before I met Ian, and after. 

Last year I didn't really want to go to anything.  I think I went to one event, compared to the 'record' a friend and I have of averaging 3 shows a day for a fortnight (parenthood for both of us has put the kybosh on trying that again for a while, though).

This year,  I'm aware of the buzz around the city.  I'm conscious I'm not getting to as much as I would like to.

I know with a child, I wouldn't be able to attend shows and events to the degree I had.  Ian was happy to stay with John, but I couldn't get to as much as I would in my single life.

But as a single parent with limited care options, I'll get to one show.  And that's because it's the show of a long-standing friend and my parents understand that I try and get to one performance per season to support them. 

There is one significant change this year however.  I'm not getting to as much AS I WOULD LIKE TO.

I want to get out and engage with what's happening.  I'm now conscious of the disconnect I've had.  I may not choose to go to my usual list of shows and branch out and see new acts, but I want to be out there.

This is a good thing.  It's frustrated by circumstance, but a good thing none the less.

Anam Cara

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There are women who have taken care of me since Dave got sick.  Just about everything I've learned about love and devotion I've learned from them.

 Dave's death cut the cord keeping me upright on this planet and as I fell, fell, fell, unable to stop the falling, unable to breathe, they cradled me. 

In every sense of the words, cradled me. In the car on the way home from the hospital that day, they cradled me, one physically, and the other, while driving us, with her mind and heart. I could feel her energy radiating from the front seat. It held me. 

They fed me, they helped me out of bed. They fielded the tasks I couldn't yet bring myself to do. They did them. They didn't do them out of obligation, they felt honored to. I am a part of them and they are a part of me.

And many times when we get together now, we retell these stories. The story of the moments we remember that brought us together in the hours and days after Dave left this earth. We talk about the horror, the pain, the love, the fear, the fury, the agony, the confusion. 

We talk and we cry and we build up this bond we have until it feels like metal armor, keeping the pain of life from crippling us. Watching each other, knowing that at the first sign of needing to be held, we'll drop it all to be there. To do the holding while the other of us falls, falls, falls. 

We know that we were brought together for a reason. We know we are more than just women who happen to be friends. We know that while we are not biologically related, we are related in a way that transcends blood. It feels as though these women were my family in this life and in lives before and if you knew me, you'd know that I don't speak woo-woo often. But this I know. 

The other night, sitting around a fire pit, with a chorus of frogs to talk over and the sounds of great blue herons croaking their goodnights above us, we said it all again. We talked about how we belonged to each other, above and beyond the changes that rock our worlds, the men in our lives who might come and go. The places we live might be farther and farther apart and our jobs might change, but nothing changes what we mean to each other and the love we feel for each other. I know that nothing so bad could happen to me that I couldn't find my home again, that I couldn't find myself again. I know I can find them. 

There is, in the celtic tradition, the notion of anam cara, or soul friend. It is believed that when you have an anam cara, you can come home to yourself. That kind of unconditional love allows you to feel less fear of solitude. Your soul can be itself. 

If life itself is under the shadow of sadness and loss, then love like that can shelter us from the bleakness. It's our respite. 

I am lucky enough to have several of these anam caras. They are why I've had the strength to keep going. They are who I think of when I think I've had enough of the pain of this life. They are my shelter from the harshness of life. They're my soul friends. 

Emotional Hangovers & Bachelorettes

It's actually Monday as I write this... I'm heading out this week for Camp Widow, where I will likely meet many of you! So I decided to get this one in early.

I'm *mostly* over the worst hangover of my life, which was due to a bachelorette party I attended on Saturday. Yup, you read that correct. I went to a bachelorette party… my first since the death of my fiancé. Since June of 2012 I have refused to go to any bachelorette parties, weddings, or showers of any kind. But it was finally time to face one.

Now, it wasn't your typical bach party. There was no wedding veil or obnoxious "Bride to Be" sash… we don't roll like that. It was just three friends from high school, out at a gay bar, drinking and dancing. We never got to do that stuff together when we were younger, so really it felt a lot like a mini reunion. We were making up for a lot of lost time. And Jesus did we ever...

Six double cranberry vodkas and several hours of dancing later… (why did we keep getting doubles? I don't even KNOW) and we are back at our hotel. My girlfriend and I are taking turns praying to the porcelain god... It is literally the most drunk I have EVER been. 

And then it happens... right there on the bathroom floor, a lot more than just upchuck comes out. Before long my friend is holding me in her arms and I am crying my eyes out. The pain mixed with the horrible room-spinning stupor sends me spiraling into my emotions.

In a normal state, I'm very good at keeping the "should's" at bay. But in this state… yeah… I'm defenseless. It SHOULD have been my bachelorette party. It should have been me that is getting married in a few weeks. It should have been me who was about to embark on the next part of my own adventure with my very best friend and soul mate. "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME" my pained drunk mind screams at me over and over again, combined with the intense need to call him and have him calm me down…

*sigh* But it isn't me. It isn't. And it's not going to be. Not with him... Ever. And I am heartbroken all over again. Broken open, all over again.

And so here I am, two days later… the physical hangover has finally passed, but the emotional one will not pass likely for a few more days. And I know there is nothing I can do to make it pass any faster. There is nothing quite as devastating as walking into someone else's happy-ever-after and seeing what you were supposed to have had. What you thought you were going to have. What you would trade everything to have back.

I know there are many of you out there who get it. Who never got the wedding or maybe - like me - were just a month away from their proposal. And even if you were married, you have your own version of this special hell of should's. It is a part of this whole fucked journey that tears so deeply when it is triggered.

There is just no pain in the world like that bitter, biting, slap in the face - the reality of what you do not have. It is a cold pain, with an icy burn like no other. No matter how long it has been, it twists itself right down into your soul.

So, I will breathe this week. And I will try to take it easy on myself, and maybe even convince myself to get excited about camp. I know it's gonna be awesome. A little at a time… I will begin to heal up again, until the next time I am broken open. As we keep doing. 

In the very least, a tiny part of me is really proud I did it. But I sure as fuck won't be going to any more bachelorette parties anytime soon!

Popped

There are many things I'm certain of in and of myself:


I am strong.

I am resilient.

I am confident.

I am driven.

I am passionate.

I am a rebel.

I am a lover.

I am a giver.

I am a life embracer.

But I must be honest.

Last year, I found myself challenged.


Now, I must preface that with that fact that I live for challenges. I thrive off of them.

And yet, when I found myself challenged in a way I could have never predicted...expected...I realized that in the midst of being and living all of the truths earlier mentioned, that there was still a part within myself that I had stayed disconnected from.

It was not some bear simply hibernating, that I speak of....something that I expected to at some point unveil itself...

I'm talking bigfoot!


A part of me that I've never embraced, acknowledged, lived...simply because I had convinced myself it didn't exist.

A part of me that I have no control over.

A part of me that left me with two choices...

Reconnect or stay in control of my little bubble.


It all took me back to a favorite saying, "Everything you want is on the other side of fear."

I think my soul saw something before my mind could grasp it....and luckily, I made the choice to not ignore it...to reconnect....to plug back in...all of me.

I'd recommend it to all...


Pop the little bubble you may have unconsciously placed yourself in.

Though you can see though it.

Though you can still go places....

Until you do, there will still be a part of you encased in something that is too small to hold all of you and all you have to give.

Four years

Four years since you left me.
 Suddenly.
Violently.
Bereft.

Nobody could possibly begin to understand the soul connection we had. 
Anam Cara.
We two were so closely linked.

...and yes, I know we are still connected.

I have learnt to recognise the signs you send me.
I know you are near.
I know you miss nothing.

I am lucky that intuition comes naturally to me.
You always said that I could "feel" whether people were good or bad. 
I can't explain it. 
I just "know" things.
Like what you were about to say, or what you were thinking.
Or how my soul knew yours as soon as it saw you, standing there in the backyard of a friend's house.
Or how I knew that we would marry from that first kiss.

Or how I had a premonition of your death, right before your death.

 I have  realised that you have never left me, that you hear me, that you are actively leading me forward.
... to a new life.
...to the people I needed to meet.
...towards the light.
... Towards hope.

...and my love for you is stronger than ever.
XA

I've lost my body connection.  In the months since my dearest husband died, my body has become alien to me and I realized it fully last week when I joined a gentle stretching yoga class.  My daughter was the instructor and she is, indeed, gentle in both movement of body and in manner.

Maybe, possibly, the difficulty had to do with the varying heart-opening poses we did that day.  Stretching backwards, holding our arms behind us, swaying goddess poses-each one I did brought emotions up in much the same way we might feel when our gorge is rising and we just know that vomit isn't far behind.  How's that for imagery?  And yet that's just what happened to me that day, as I moved and shifted.

My body physically hurts these days, as if I've aged 20 years since Chuck died.  He and I exercised regularly together for years, walking and hiking especially.  I can count on one hand how many times I've exercised since his death and I ponder that frequently and sometimes ponder further that maybe I should feel guilty for the lack of guilt from not taking care of my body.

But, I don't.  Feel guilty that is.  Quite honestly, I don't care.  And don't have the energy to either exercise or care about that I'm not exercising.

So, this yoga class brought home to me the realization that I have almost a psychological resistance to opening up.  Which contradicts all I've striven for since last April:  keeping my heart open to love.  And I do.  Outwardly.  I'm good with opening up outwardly.  Inwardly I suspect not so much.  There's so much pain involved.  My body is starved, I think.  Starved for his touch, and I'm feeling it.

It was all I could do to not run screaming from that studio.  Screaming with pain and agony and missing-ness and wildness.  Did I run?  Nope.  I did each pose as best I could, struggling in a way I've never struggled before, tears tracking down my face, holding back sobs, images of his illness and death and the months since pounding in my head and heart.

Who is this woman I am now?  Who is the woman I'm becoming?  I have no idea.  No frickin' idea.  It's all about survival for me right now.  Yes, I believe that somewhere there is an amazing future for me but that doesn't hold much water for me because, paradoxically really, I can't see a future.

Life is all about the here and now.  And finding a way to connect with my body and make it again familiar and well.  It was suggested to me that maybe it isn't so much about exercising right now as it is about massages and nurturing and loving me again.

Grief is hard, isn't it?  I know that this isn't all about Chuck dying.  Its also about the recognizable life that he and I shared dying.  Its about the me who died with him.  This time of grief and mourning is, I suppose, a birthing of sorts for me and it is accompanied by the pangs and pains and struggle that has to happen for life to be birthed again.

It sucks.