Love and Goodbyes

You know, it's true what they say. To love means taking a risk of being hurt.

Since Chuck died, I've sworn to myself many times that I will never love anyone with my whole heart ever again. Of course, I can't stop loving those I already love. But I swore my heart was closed off to any additional "risks". I definitely would never love anyone new. But I also wouldn't love anyone any more than I already do.

I figured it's pretty simple. I remain neutral...or level. And once I go through the pain of losing my current loved ones? There is no chance for the pain of loss to touch me ever again. (Of course it's been in the back of my mind all along about what I will do if and when my sons have kids. Am I going to NOT love any new grandchildren? How is that possible?) I'm sure this is just a logical (grief) response to an illogical (grief) thought pattern.

But this last week with our oldest granddaughter, Lindsey, visiting has proved to me that I am not capable of withholding love. Although I've always loved her, she opened my heart up even more during her stay. In seven short days, she taught me that love is worth the possible pain. An 8-year-old taught me that...such an important life lesson. She taught me that there is always hope and that anyone can persevere through the hardest times. (And believe me, this little girl has seen more difficulties and heartbreak than even a grown adult should have to endure.)

I worried so much in the days leading up to her visit. I thought I would break down and cry the moment I saw her. I didn't though. It was a happy, but casual, reunion. Our visit was nice. It wasn't overly exciting. We weren't on the go all week...trying to fill up every minute with some exhilarating adventure. We played games. We basically hung out around home. We were just together. I asked her what she wanted to do. She didn't care. She wanted to play games. She wanted me to watch her favorite tv shows with her. She just wanted us to be together. It's funny how a child can take you back to the basics, isn't it?

No, there were never any extra special days. We didn't drive here and visit there. We didn't spend much money. The most extravagant (expensive) thing we did was go to the movie theater. We played games (she beat me most of the time), we watched tv, we ran errands together, we caught toads (she's a girly-girl and a tomboy all mixed together!). And we talked. We talked a lot.

We talked about her school. Her new friends. We talked about everyday things. We talked about my job. We talked about clothes and makeup and hair. We talked about pets. We talked about family...about her mom. Her sisters whom she misses so much.

We talked about her Grandpa. About his funeral. About where he is buried. About memories of him.

We talked about life. We talked about death.

And everything in between. Sometimes until very late into the night.

We bonded. Just when I thought we couldn't be closer, our bond became tighter.

.....sigh.

And then it was time to say goodbye again. I took it much harder than I thought I would. Yeah, I thought about whether I would cry or not when I first laid my eyes upon her again. I didn't stop and consider the goodbye part of it. I didn't seriously think about it until this morning. I talked to her on our trip about us keeping in touch a little more often. She expressed her wishes to come visit more often and for a longer period of time next summer. We strategized on how we could get together sooner...instead of waiting almost another year.

And then we arrived at our destination.

Her other, less favorite :), Grandma gave her a bear hug and told her that she missed her. I'm sure she did. There is no way that can compare to the way I've missed her for the last 10 months. When Lindsey walked around to the other side of the car to put her stuff inside, I took the opportunity to thank my husband's ex-wife (whom he wasn't very fond of...still...after 20 years) and my nemesis for all of these years..."Thank you."

"Thank you for letting her come and visit. It was really good for me. And for her, too, I think."

And then I cried. Damn tears. I didn't want to. I didn't want to appear vulnerable or weak. Not in front of the ex-wife of all people. She hugged me and told me not to cry. She replied, "Any time you want to see her." She told me to let her know if there is anything she can do.

This might sound cruel, but I don't trust her. You would have to know the history to understand that. But I have to take her for her word. She has the ultimate control over Lindsey now. Her word and her promise is my only hope for a future with Lindsey...my Granddaughter. Our Granddaughter. She doesn't belong to me. We all have to share her. (Although I am the one who taught her to say "Grandma" when she was less than a year old!)

I feel honored and privileged that I can still be her Grandma. I am so lucky.

I got my emotions in check enough to hug and kiss Lindsey goodbye. She left with the hope that we will see each other soon. Unfortunately, she has learned at an early age to not take things like this for granted. She left happy. Not happy to be going "home". But happy and fulfilled because she spent the week with her favorite Grandma. (Her words...not mine.)

I cried for about the first 40 miles home. I felt like I lost her all over again. Just like last summer. Last summer may have been more difficult because I didn't know if I would ever be allowed to see her again. It hurt like hell. But last summer may have also been easier because Chuck and I cried together. I had somebody here who knew exactly what I was feeling. I had somebody here to tell me to "calm down"...as only he could. I had somebody here who was going through the same exact loss that I was.

Yeah, I cried because of having to say goodbye to her. My Lindsey. But I think I also released so many more tears for the many great losses I've experienced in the last year. Lindsey is a person. A unique and special person. But she is also a symbol of my life with Chuck. Of our life together. On so many occasions, our life revolved around her and her sisters. To lose her would be like a break in a big, strong chain of memories.

I've had to say too many goodbyes lately.

I will move forward from this past week having learned and grown. That beautiful little girl reminded me that to never allow myself this type of unconditional love would be equal to dying. She taught me that love is life and life is love. She taught me that it is worth taking the risk of being hurt.

After a week of fun and light and love, the house is too quiet once again.

But my heart is full. I have been reminded how love can be...in its purest and most simple form. I am loved by an innocent child.

She's worth the risk.

On a lighter note.....

My online community of widowed friends has a knack for making light of all the stupid things we do due to our minds not functioning as well these days. We have even coined our own term for it. We endearingly call it "Widow Brain" or "Widda Brain". Of course, every person in the world has a "blonde moment" every now and then. I don't know if there is any scientific evidence to prove that this is a real phenomenon specific to someone who has been through a major life change or trauma. But it can be very frustrating sometimes.

These things range from serious issues to menial everyday tasks. Here are a few examples:
(By the way, these are experiences posted by my online friends...not me!)

• Deodorant does not work as hairspray.

• The dry clothes don't need to be dried again...unless you forget to take them out, and put the wet clothes from the washer in with them. Or unless they're not at all dry, because you never pushed the button to start the dryer to begin with.

• When going to a drive through restaurant, it is a good idea to actually get the food at the second window that you have already paid for at the first window before driving off.

• You can water a fake plant that someone gave you as often as you want - it's not going to grow. Someone gave one to me at my husband's funeral and I watered it for a year before I figured it out. I swore I bloomed a new flower too.

• Before you crank the propane tank open and strike the match, MAKE SURE THE LID IS UP ON THE BBQ!!! I almost blew my friggin head off!!!

• Don't put the coffee in the broom closet...you will never find it.. because you never go into the broom closet anymore.. because you never do any cleaning anymore.. because.. just don't put the coffee in the broom closet.

• Make sure the support group you attend is actually for widows. I accidentally ended up at a narcotics anonymous meeting. When I said "I think I'm in the wrong place" they said, " Oh why? Are you an alcoholic?"

• Write with huge numbers your phone number and be sure to keep it handy... Just in case... I had an embarrassing moment forgetting my phone number!!!!

• When a good Samaritan has stopped to pull your vehicle out of the snowbank/ditch/mud, do NOT gun the motor to help. (...thereby smashing into the rear end of his vehicle after he has stopped and you have not) Signed, The Blonde Widow Brained Voice of Experience

• If you're going to go to the trouble of locking the side door to the garage for the night, you might want to consider actually shutting the gaping big garage door too.

• (I learned the hard way on this one) If you hire a lawn-mowing service to take over yard care until you are "back on your feet" again, don't tell the lawn guy you've just lost your husband. Otherwise, every few weeks creepy lawn man will show up at your door with his late-40-something thinning hair parted down the middle and his beer belly pressing against his lime green tank top and he will be grinning at you while he digs his denim shorts out of his crack and asking if there's anything else he can do for you while you hurriedly try to write his dang check so you can run inside and go, EEUWWW!

• Did you all know that you actually have to put ice cream in the freezer to keep it frozen? Just putting it on top of the freezer doesn't work. I can't seem to get this little bit of info to stick in my head. I just keep putting it on top and don't find it until it has melted all down the refrigerator!!!

• Lose the toothpaste pump and go back to the tube...if it sits next to the soap dispenser you too may end up sticking soap in your mouth. That will take you back to your childhood.

• When you leave home to pick up your three young children from school don't forget to put your other (the fourth) sleeping baby in the car too!

• This tip I chant to myself: The freezer is NOT the place for your keys. The freezer is NOT the place for your keys. Also I have discovered that if you put the book shelf together inside out, with the holes for the shelf on the outside you will just have to start over.

• When going out of town, (as I did, to a grief seminar no less) remember to take the packed suitcase off the bed and actually put it in the car.

• Do not attempt to put together self-assembly furniture while enjoying several glasses of wine. But if you DO, like I did, and accidentally attach parts that don't belong together and then can't get them apart, take the parts in question over to Home Depot or Lowe's, where there are lots of strong, resourceful men equipped with every tool in the world who love a challenge like this.

I guess I've been pretty lucky so far. I've had a few incidences that I suppose I could blame on "Widow Brain". But I mostly notice that I just have a more difficult time concentrating in general.

Now...if I could just quit putting my underwear on inside out!!

Seriously, I've done that so often lately I often wonder if I am switching them around while I sleep! The funny part is that I found out I'm not alone in this. Several other people have admitted to doing this, also. But, hey, at least I'm only putting them on inside out and not backwards and then wondering why they feel funny all day! :)

So the next time I'm in a grouchy mood, maybe just gently ask me if I have my underwear on the right way! I guess that "don't get your panties in a bunch" saying has a quite literal meaning!

Operation Disconnect

What is it today? I just posted a week ago about how the stretches of "good" days seem to last longer as time goes on. And then today happened. I mean, I just got over a bad period and assumed that I would have a really good week (at least a week)...especially since Lindsey is in town.

Today was nothing major. Just that stupid feeling when I woke up. And it's totally thrown me off course. I don't understand why. It's not the first time it's happened and I'm pretty positive it won't be the last.

I don't really have the desire to talk about any of this right now but I've been forcing myself to connect with people today in any way possible...a phone call, texting, e-mail, Facebook, MySpace. Maybe I'm trying to remind myself that I'm still very much a part of this world...and this life.

I've felt so many things in the last year. I'm getting used to all of the emotions. But today is just different. I feel like I'm an observer of my life today. I think I understand what they mean when they say I'm like an outsider looking in.

I see the circumstances. I see the emotions. I see the pain and the heartache and the loneliness and also the happiness and the love and the hope. But I can't seem to connect with any one thing today. It's a really odd sensation. Is my heart taking a day off? I mean, I'm not feeling cold and uncaring today. I'm just seeing everything for what it is.

I feel numb.

I feel like I'm just sitting on the side lines with my mouth hanging open. I feel like I'm saying, "I can't believe what I'm seeing here." And "I can't believe what is happening right in front of me." I feel like I am watching this happen to someone else. Or like I'm watching some reality show on tv.

I feel like I'm in a dense fog.

I'm going to go to bed soon. And hope that I wake up tomorrow with a clearer perspective on everything. Whether that means feeling good or feeling bad. I just want to feel like I'm actually living inside my own body and inside my own head. I want to feel like I'm not losing my mind. As crazy as this might sound, I just want to FEEL!

Maybe it would be better if I were feeling frantic. Maybe I'd feel better if I were drowning in an insane amount of sadness and despair.

I just really don't want another day of feeling this disconnected. It's throwing me off and I don't like it. Even though I don't particularly like this new normal, at least I know what to expect. This "disconnect", or whatever you want to call it, is a brand new feeling and one I wasn't prepared for. I don't recall reading about this in any of my grief books.

Maybe it really is just me going back to that shock/numbness phase. You know the one. That phase where I could sit here and say how "relaxed" I am and how calm I feel...before his body was even removed from the house. (Can anybody imagine the guilt I feel about that now? For Christ's sake...I think I even had a slight smile on my face because it was finally over.) Or that numb feeling that enabled me to read a 4 page eulogy? And while I'm being honest...I sure felt the sadness that I spoke of that day...but the tears? There were very few of them and I felt like I had to try to force more. After all, if I didn't break down and fall on the floor sobbing, I surely must not have loved him very much...right? Why did everyone else cry more than I did? How did I remain so "strong" throughout the planning of the funeral?

It was this very type of disconnect that I'm feeling now. It wasn't intentional. It had to be nature's way (or God's way....however you want to see it) of insulating me from the hardcore pain.

I never understood. My stepson's cousin died a couple of years ago and I couldn't believe his young, pregnant widow wasn't inconsolable in her grief. I just didn't understand. And now I'm very sorry for ever thinking that way. But this isn't like the movies, People. It's far from it. Now I understand.

Just put me back in the middle of ground zero. Let me feel what I need to feel so I can get through it and eventually move on with life.

I hope I'm not doing this to myself. If I am, I don't realize it. Is my brain protecting my heart because it's too painful? Or am I just tired of the grief, loneliness, heartache, loss, and pain? I'm smart. I've researched everything there is to know about all of this. Otherwise, I may have tried a little harder to escape from it all. But I know that I have to go through it eventually...there are no shortcuts.

I'm not trying to escape. Although, if there were a way, I'm sure I would take that path. I'd like to think that I'm on strike for the day. Or for 3 days...or a week. Whatever it takes. Or even just on vacation.

Something.

I would like to feel really good. Or really bad. Or somewhere in between.

I don't want to feel disconnected...ever again. It just doesn't feel right.

Aren't naps supposed to feel good?

I have so much to do.

I'm not talking about things I've got to necessarily get done today...but things that need to be done soon. I hate putting things off until the last minute. I've struggled with procrastination my whole life. But I started getting better.

Honestly, none of it seems important to me right this minute.

I have to get things done around the house, the yard. I have a stack of paperwork to go through. I have to sit down and figure out bills for the next month. School is starting for the kids in a month so I have everything that goes along with that. The thought of getting myself back to school is being pushed back at least another semester. I have another house I need to prepare for rental since it's unlikely it will sell this summer.

And those are just the big things.

I need to start by pushing myself into taking my shower yet today. I need to think about getting to the store so there is something to eat for dinner.

Yet all I want to do is sit. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to read. I don't want to watch tv. Or work on a puzzle. Or waste time on the computer. Or talk to anybody.

I just want to sit.

I want to close the curtains again.

I had a dream while I napped this morning. I don't even really remember it now. I do know that it wasn't anything devastating. It was just a normal dream. And I would wake up to my normal life.

That's what got me. I'm doing so much better about not turning immediately to sad thoughts upon waking like I did for the first 8 months. I never forget but I'm not dwelling on it for the first hour of my day anymore...

Until today.

I woke up from that nap and those feelings came right back. He isn't here. I haven't been sleeping this whole time just to wake up from a terrible, terrible nightmare. It hit me like it was Day One all over again. And it hit me hard.

I haven't cried today. I'm not hysterical. I'm not moping. I just feel like I'm in shock and in a daze again.

This is all so unpredictable. That's what I hate the most. If it started out terrible and slowly got better with each day in a predictable time line, I could handle it so much better. I hate not knowing what each moment has in store for me.

I hate not knowing how I will feel when I wake up.

And to think that this day started off pretty good. I shouldn't have taken that nap.

I am going to start my day over again right now. I think I'll start with a shower and a trip to the store.

No matter what, I'm keeping the curtains open.

Through a child's eyes

Children amaze me. Or, more accurately, their memories amaze me. I haven't seen our 8-year-old granddaughter in over 10 months.

I had no doubt that she was old enough to remember us and the times we shared together.

But today, she showed me just how precise her memories are. She took her various stuffed animals out of her suitcase to show me. Many of these animals she's had since infancy. Especially her bunny and her giraffe.

She said, "Grandma, my giraffe's tail is starting to come off again." So I looked at it. I said, "Lindsey, did someone already sew his tail back on once before?" She said, "Yeah, Grandpa did."

He's been gone for over 8 months. She hasn't been here for over 10 months.

At only 8 years old, she remembered that her Grandpa was the one who sewed the giraffe's tail back on. And he probably did it a couple of years ago.

And to think I was so worried she would forget him.

The other day, I started getting pissed off when I thought of the time he "wasted" fixing up Nichole's place in order to get her situated here...near us. It was a waste in my mind because that whole situation was nothing but chaos. He thought he was making a life for his daughter and granddaughters. For them to live close by.

The very first thing he got done was Lindsey's bedroom. God it was a pretty bedroom. It was a room fit for a princess. He wanted to get it done for her. That was his first priority and he was so proud of how it turned out. That's the only room he got done before he got sick.

But it wasn't a waste of time, even though Lindsey only slept in there a couple of nights. Because every time she thinks or speaks of that room, she knows her Papa made it pretty for her. (It saddens me that she still has her heart set on living there again because I know it will never happen.)

She didn't forget who sewed her giraffe's tail on. She won't forget who fixed her bedroom up for her. She told me today how she remembers us running out to the car after leaving the zoo (a few years ago) because it was pouring rain. I told her that I think it stopped raining as soon as we got to the car. She said, "No, Grandma. It was still sprinkling when we got to the car. After we drove down the road it stopped raining."

Obviously, she will always remember him. Her Papa.

And she will continue to amaze me with her memories. Maybe she will remember things that I would never think of again.

I love this little girl. I love her with all my heart and I'm so grateful to have her here with me now.

Thank you, Chuck. Without you, I wouldn't have this beautiful granddaughter. And she loves you, Baby. To this day, she still loves you.

You were worried that people would forget? She never will.

Never.

Curtains

It's no secret I've been in a little bit of a slump lately. It's a pattern I've come to accept. If I had my choice, I would be on a more even keel. My life and my moods would be more stable...just like they used to be. But they aren't so I've had to learn how to adapt. I really am learning to adjust to this new way of life. And I'm learning to accept the inevitable bad days for what they are. More importantly, I'm learning to embrace the good days and make the most of them.

A couple of days ago, I decided to start feeling alive again. I resumed working on the bathroom remodeling. I started cleaning up the house a little bit. I could tell my mood was on the upswing.

This morning I woke up sore and stiff. I haven't really overexerted myself physically, but I guess I've done enough to make myself feel this way. (Getting older sucks.) But I still pushed on. This latest "down time" seemed to drag on forever and I refused to let a few aches and pains waste another day because I've wasted enough time lately.

So, I've gotten some things accomplished. I'm satisfied with my progress on the bathroom...give me another two full days devoted to it and it will be finished. I've cleaned up the house so it is presentable and, more importantly, comfortable to me. And, probably the most telling of all, I opened up the windows and the curtains all the way today.

It's funny how much you can tell about my mood by how far the curtains are open. They've been in a position of almost fully closed to half open for a couple of weeks now. But today I wanted them wide open. I wanted to let the sunshine in and to feel the breeze blowing. Even though we are well into summer, it almost felt like the first spring-like day after a long, cold winter. My moods are quite like the seasons. I can feel the change coming on gradually and they tend to overlap quite a bit.

But today? It was springtime for my heart. Not the rainy days of early spring. But the perfect weather, flowers blooming, birds singing time of spring. The time of rebirth and renewal and rejuvenation.

It felt good.

I'm halfway to exhausted tonight...but a good type of exhaustion. I'm not emotionally drained. I'm looking forward to laying my head on my pillow with a feeling of accomplishment. I'm looking forward to what the new day might bring. I don't know if I'm trying to make up for the time lost during my depressed periods or if I'm trying to get ahead of the game before the next one hits. Whatever the reason, I will make the most out of the good days.

When I'm at my lowest emotional point, I feel like so much of me died that day. But today, I am alive. He wanted me to live. I didn't die that day. Neither did he, really. He is alive within me. At least for today. As long as my heart is beating, he is alive. I will continue working towards our goals. I will continue reaching for the dreams we both shared.

One of his concerns was my well-being after he was gone. I told him I would be okay. So I will always be okay. But today I am better than okay and I just know that he is smiling. He is saying, "That's the Jodi I've always loved. The strong one. The one who can be independent and do anything she sets her mind on."

The other day I read some of the older stuff I've written. The pattern has become very obvious to me. Without a doubt, my mood will once again start to get darker. I will slide back down into the pit of despair. I will, once again, feel like I'm half dead.

I will close the curtains and try to shut the world out.

Until then, I will accomplish. I will laugh. I will excel. I will live.

These stretches of good days seem to last longer as time goes on. For that, I am so grateful. I have faith that the day will come where the low points are almost nonexistent. It's not a matter of forgetting all that has happened. It's just about being satisfied that I had so much in the first place. That I've been lucky enough to have had such an awesome 20 years.

I will come to a point where the memories won't hurt anymore. Where the very thought of him doesn't make me feel like my soul is bleeding. Where I can open up the curtains fully and greet each day with a smile...just because.

Because I've known the feeling of true and everlasting love. I've loved fully and I've been fully loved.

Even the most dreary day can't darken that feeling.

Thank you, Chuck. I love you.

The empty chair

I'm copying something I wrote in a notebook last night. I hand write a lot that I don't share here but I want to share this now as a continuation of my previous two entries of the day. Although today has been a much better day, I want to share what a bad day is like...completely through to the end. My mind doesn't shut off. It wanders from one random subject to another and there is no stopping it.

Usually if I just keep on writing, my spirit begins to lift and I will start to feel better...which is exactly what has happened. That's my ultimate goal...to work through the negative, painful feelings and get to a better day. Thank you, every one of you, who read. Thank you for listening.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009 -- almost 11:00 PM

Why wouldn't he ever agree to Hospice bringing a bed? I told him at the time, "Just let them bring it. You don't have to use it. But it will be here if and when you choose to use it." Instead, he sat/laid in that stupid vinyl lift chair. Until the end. I would have rather had him die in our bed if it would have made him more comfortable. I guess he must have been as comfortable as possible in that chair or he would have asked to move.

I think he didn't want a bed because he didn't want to see them carry in his "death bed". He would feel like he was sick. (That's something that he couldn't accept.) He would feel like he was giving up. Like he was "laying down to die". Of course, I'm only speculating because he never gave me a reason. But this is what my mind does when I'm going through these low points.

He DID like the chair. He felt so much relief when they first brought it. He could finally feel somewhat comfortable. I could have even been relieved seeing him in that chair -- IF he would have laid his beautiful head back and appeared relaxed.

Whenever I think back on that time, I can't help but go back to that feeling...just wishing he would rest his head. Instead, he always held it up...his neck straight. When he slept, his head would nod forward like someone who dozed off in the evening -- trying, but failing, to stay awake for a favorite TV show.

I hate that vision. I pray to God he was in the most comfortable position he could be in. I pray that he didn't sit that way for the same reason he refused a bed...

Because he didn't want to give up. Because he wanted to put up a fight. Because he didn't want to die.

Thinking about it now, over 8 months later, I can still feel the tension in my own body. When he couldn't relax, I couldn't relax. When he didn't feel good, I didn't feel good. I never realized how connected we were. In every way possible.

The next morning, before they came to pick up his chair, I sat in it for the first time ever. I thought about the time, a few days before, when he tried to push a button on the control pad. He kept pushing and pushing and he just dropped it and gave up and said, "I broke it." He didn't break it. He wasn't even pushing a button. This smart, strong man was so sick that he couldn't even push a button.

Then I thought even farther back to when they first delivered the chair. He felt bad because my Mom had spent "so much time" sewing thicker cushions for a rocking chair we owned to make him more comfortable...and he only used it for a day or two. (I reassured him that she didn't care if it only made him feel better for a couple of hours...anything she could do for him was worth her time.) It was a classic example of how concerned he was for others' feelings. In a less dire situation, I have no doubt he would have still sat on the cushions that were sewed specifically for him to let Mom know how much he appreciated her thoughtfulness.

So, I sat silently in his chair for a few minutes. I guess I just longed for that connection. I couldn't imagine how it was ever comfortable for him. While sitting there, I noticed one of the hairs from his head barely sticking to it. I picked up that single strand of hair so tenderly. I was so afraid of dropping and losing it. I safely Scotch-taped it to the front of the folder from Hospice...the folder that holds every piece of paper from that period in our lives.

As much as I wanted to keep all of his things right where he last left them, I couldn't wait to get rid of anything that pertained to his illness. Especially that chair. But once it was gone, the room felt so empty.

That room and this house were still filled with stuff. But he was gone.

The house was truly empty.

Welcome to my roller coaster

Am I just being lazy? Or are the feelings of grief hitting me physically? Did my long nap this morning (that spilled well into the afternoon) just mess me up for the rest of the day?

I try not to use grief as an excuse for being unmotivated. Maybe it is the real culprit. I just don't know. All I do know is that I've felt unmotivated (lazy) for the last several days. I've always gotten great satisfaction out of having a well-kept home. While it still feels good, it just doesn't seem important anymore. There is nobody here who cares and shares my pride in our home. I also know that if I come home tomorrow and get a lot done around here, I will feel good by the end of the day.

What started out as a lazy afternoon has turned into an evening of a general feeling of not feeling good. That's the only way I can describe it. I plain old "just don't feel good". My legs ache. I feel feverish. My jaws hurt. I have no energy. My body aches.

I know I'm not coming down with something. And I'm definitely not tired. Stress has always manifested itself in a physical way with me. When I was a young girl and visited my Dad, I ended up physically ill many times. Fever and all. I didn't make myself sick. After all, how do you fake a real fever? I didn't even realize at the time that I guess I didn't want to be there. After looking back several years later, it hit me. It was so odd that, every time I got so ill at his house and he would take me home, I was feeling better in no time. It had to be my way of dealing with stress.

Is that what's happening now? There are so many peaks and valleys when dealing with grief. Some compare it to a roller coaster. Am I just in one of those valleys?

I don't feel overly stressed or insanely sad today. Just blah. And I'm okay with feeling blah. I've had days like this plenty of times...even "Before". Everyone needs a down day every now and then, right? My down days used to be after a day of huge accomplishment. I didn't feel guilty about those days because I felt I worked hard to earn them. Now my down days are a string of several days in a row. The laundry piles up. So do the dishes. The dust gets thicker. Bills go unpaid. Weeds continue to grow. (Thanks, Mom...for weeding!) Errands remain undone. It will eventually get done. I just don't know when.

Maybe I shouldn't be so self-conscious about what other people think. But I don't want to be viewed as LAZY. I'm only doing what is absolutely necessary today. The kids and the dogs are fed. I go to work every morning. The electric and phone bills are paid. I take a shower. On days like this, that's all I have in me.

My widow friends reassure me that this is normal. And that it's OKAY. One (more "seasoned") widow on that forum ends every post with the words, "Be gentle with yourself." But other people don't know this is normal.

Grief is hard work. That's what I keep hearing.

It's something I never would have understood a year ago. I still have a hard time grasping that concept today. But it's true. The problem is that people can't physically see the progress that comes with this "grief work".

I need these down days, don't I? I'm still moving forward during these "lazy" periods, aren't I?

I look back to earlier in the month when I made so much progress in the bathroom in such a short time. I was absolutely ecstatic. I need to feel that again. And I will. But right now I can't. If history is any indicator of the future...it will happen soon.

In the meantime, if you stop over to visit, please don't mind the mess. I hate it as much as you do. Probably more. I physically just don't feel good. This will pass and I will have days where I amaze myself. But for now, I need to sit back and let everything pile up. I don't know if it's true, but I keep telling myself it's all a part of the process. I have no idea if I will ever get back to where I once was.

I'm not going to concern myself with that right now. Because I am doing the best that I can. In the past, I could always push past those feelings. I could always accomplish things, if needed, on one of my "lazy" days. I honestly think that's physically impossible now. So, I am just going to keep on being "gentle with myself". And keep on hoping that tomorrow is a better day.

It may not be the most healthy way to deal with grief, but neither is running from it. So I'm going to accept it for what it is and hope it's not a mistake in the long run. After all, how does the saying go? In 20 years, who will remember how clean your house was?

Right now I need peace of mind. I will do (or not do) whatever it takes to get it.

So I'll ride on this never-ending roller coaster. I'll coast along during the lows, the valleys. I'll accept them for what they are. I'll appreciate the peaks, and the exhilarating views that come along with them, when I'm on top. There is nothing like being lower than low to give one a greater appreciation for the highs. So those down days do serve a purpose. They make the good days even better.

Maybe this is the lesson I was destined to learn. I will never again take for granted the good things. Never. But I also won't forget to embrace the bad. Because there is always a lesson to be learned.

I'm changed by this whole experience. But I believe I have been changed for the better, if I allow it. It is my choice...what I learn from all of this. I hope it makes me a better person. A more loving, kind and gentle person. I'm definitely a work in progress.

I just wish he was here to see it...the better me that will inevitably surface. I wish he didn't have to be the one to teach me that lesson.

Newspapers, crossed paths, and memories

For the past 14 years, my only job outside the home has been as a newspaper carrier. I switched to this line of work from a cushy 9 to 5 office job after our second son was born, in order to save money on daycare and also to have more time with the boys when they were very young. I intended to stay at this job at least until the boys were both in school. It worked out quite well for our family. Brandon is entering high school this fall and Adam will be graduating next spring and I am still getting up every day, 365 days a year, very early to deliver papers. I never imagined I would stay on this job for this length of time.

There have been sacrifices along the way. Things such as family vacations or even an overnight visit to a relative's house are almost impossible to arrange. Even a late night out is a rare thing. Since our family's schedule was already basically controlled by my job, Chuck decided to join me by getting his own route a few years ago...after being laid off from his "real" job.

We never could have known how much that arrangement would come to mean to us. We were literally together 22 hours every day. Even during those 2 hours we were apart delivering our own individual routes, we would see each other at least once...sometimes several times. Our routes crossed paths in a couple of places. I got so used to turning a corner or passing a street and looking down it to see if his vehicle was there. It got to the point where I knew approximately where he would be at any given time. If I didn't see his car, I would look for him to see if he was having some sort of problem.

I would stop and talk to him for a few minutes. We would chat about anything unusual that had happened so far, or about something we heard on the radio, or even just about what we were going to eat for breakfast and what we were going to do later in the day.

When he first began to get sick, I started delivering his route for him. He was in so much pain. He was barely sleeping. Every day I would pick up his papers for him and stop home to wake him up, hoping that he would be feeling better today. He tried to help out and do what he could but it was just too much for him.

Then October 18th, 2008 happened. The official diagnosis.

I knew then that I would never cross paths with him while on my route. Ever again. One of the first "last times" had already happened weeks before we even realized it. After all, we had assumed that his back would eventually heal and he would be back to work.

I remember the ride home from the hospital that day. He said, "I'll try to do some of my route but, Honey, I don't think I can do the parts with stairs or too much walking." I just looked at him incredulously. What did he think I expected from him? I said, "Chuck, you will never work again. Don't worry about it. I can handle it. You just worry about resting and trying to feel as good as possible." I felt so sorry for him. I tried to hide the pity in my eyes.

My plan was to continue doing both of our routes until the holidays were over. He hated that I had to get up extra early and then come home and care for him all day. He didn't want this situation to be a burden on me. (I never considered it a burden. I told him I would continue on like this for years if it meant keeping him here with me.) Every morning he would tell me that he wished I could just give up his route. He worked so hard all year to earn those Christmas tips...there was no way I was going to give up right before it paid off. He was always amazed by the tips I received and the nice notes customers would send in cards. The first year he got his own, it made him feel proud that he had done a good job...that his customers appreciated his services so much. I wanted him to have that feeling one more time.

Needless to say, he never got the opportunity. I did get plenty of appreciative notes right after his death and also that Christmas from his customers. Many of them were quite sweet and a few were downright emotional. I especially enjoyed the ones that mentioned him. Several of his customers (the early risers!) had gotten to know him on a personal level. Not only did they appreciate his work ethic, they truly liked him as a person. It touched my heart that one even showed up at the funeral home. So many of them were truly saddened when they learned of his passing.

It has been 6 months since I gave up that route. Although I didn't miss the extra work once it was gone, it took me awhile to get over the fact that another person was out there doing it. I didn't want to pass a street or turn a corner and see a strange car. It just didn't feel right.

Starting yesterday, part of that route got permanently added on to mine. I wondered how it would feel to be back out there delivering it again. I must admit that it's strange. I'm not the emotional wreck I assumed I would be but I do have trouble concentrating on what I'm doing. With every step I take, with every paper I throw, so many memories come flooding back. This is where he said this. Or this is where we had that stupid argument. Or this is the customer he would talk to every morning and come home and relay the conversation to me. Oh...and this is where the car broke down. This is where he had a flat tire.

It's strange...some of the things that come back to me. Stupid things, really. But things that were "him" or "us". So they are not really stupid, I guess. That was our life.

I'm sure, in time, it will all feel normal to me. It will begin to feel like "my" route...not his. They are now MY customers. That's hard to imagine right now. But it was also hard to imagine surviving even one day without him and I've managed to do that for almost 250 days now.

So, yeah, this too will become normal.

But we will never again cross paths in the morning. We will never again talk about our breakfast menu. I will never turn a corner and feel my heart beat just a little bit faster when I see him there. When I hear something funny on the radio, I will never again ask him if he heard it.

But in the two short days since I started back on that route, HIS route, I've noticed something. If I stop, if I stand still enough and look up at the stars, I can feel him there. I swear I can feel him there sometimes. But why wouldn't I? He is with me always. Even if it's only in my heart.

Stereotypes

What does a "widow" look like? Because, technically, that's what I am.

Is she old, gray-haired, and wrinkled? Does she wear black for a year? Is her next move into a nursing home? Or perhaps she has to move in with one of her adult children because she can no longer maintain her house. Can she still drive a car? Hell, she must already have one foot in the grave herself.

Sitting at the cemetery today, a gentleman (approximately 70 years old), walked nearby and asked me, "Is that your dad or your mom you're visiting?" I simply replied, "No. It's my husband." He stumbled for words for a moment. Is that what most people think when they see me there? That I must surely be here visiting one of my parents because I'm too young to have a husband who died? Probably. It really doesn't matter. But, I have to admit, when I see a younger person like me at the cemetery, I look around to see if they have a spouse and/or children with them. I try to guess who they are there to visit. Only one time have I seen someone my age with a child visiting. Every other time, it is a couple with children. That always makes me feel lonely and isolated.

Anyways, he then proceeded to ask me how old he was and how he died. After that, he went on to bitch about the cemetery, the management, the corporate bigwigs. He told me about the $20,000 in attorney fees he has supposedly spent trying to sue the place. He told me about the "hush money" that plot owners and surrounding homeowners have been paid.

All of the things I didn't want or need to hear.

I nodded politely and smiled when appropriate.

After all, I'm just a "widow" who wanted to spend a few minutes at the cemetery today...visiting her husband.

Progress?

Wow. I didn't even realize what today is. Is this a sign of healing? Is it because I have other (more "important") things on my mind? Or is it just the result of it being a busy Saturday in July?

I may have even gone to bed tonight, only to wake up tomorrow and realize that I failed to mentally mark the date, if I hadn't read the following words of a fellow widow replying to a random post I just read on an internet bulletin board:

Hugs to u, today and always....(8 months for me today)

So out of curiosity, I checked the date. Lo and behold! It's the 11th once again.

In the beginning, I counted days. Then I began counting weeks...every Tuesday marked another week. Then you run into that strange thing where 4 weeks doesn't quite equal a calendar month so it's easier to switch to months. So that's when I began to count months and have continued to do so ever since.

This last month, I have begun to let go of the time issue a little bit. (What does it matter anyways? He's still gone and always will be...whether it's for 3 days or 7 years.) I've stopped being so exact. After June 11th, I started saying it's been "just over 7 months". Then it became 7 and a half months. For the last week or so, I've been saying it's been 8 months. Not "almost 8 months". Just 8 months.

And today I almost didn't even realize it.

8 months.

What a contrast this day is compared to exactly 8 months ago. Then it was almost winter. It was cold and cloudy and dreary outside. Our family pulled together because of a tragedy. A huge tragedy. There was no reason to feel anything but sadness and despair. Today it is hot and bright and sunny outside. Our family pulled together once again...but to celebrate the first high school graduation of our youngest generation. There was no reason to feel anything but happiness and pride.

In the past, I've written on the 11th of the month about how strange this "time" thing is when grieving such a tremendous loss. That still holds true. I can't believe 8 months have passed...almost 3/4's of a year. Yet it feels like it's been forever. All at the same time. I like to think of it as the "Twilight Zone Syndrome".

Life and time have both continued to move forward. Just as it will continue after every one of us are gone. After our children and our grandchildren are gone.

It's kind of bittersweet, this passing of time. In a very odd way that I can't explain, I want to forever remain in those ungodly painful first days and weeks. But I don't want to feel that intense, raw pain. The more time passes, the more people think that I surely must be healing and "getting over it". That's the part I don't like. Sure, it's not as close to the surface as much of the time as it used to be. But it will always be there. There is no getting over something like this. There comes a little more acceptance with each day that passes. Time also grants us the ability to deal with it a little better. But this forever changes a person. If I live another 50 years, I will never miss him any less than I do right now. I just want everyone to know and realize that.

Time does NOT heal all wounds. Well, maybe the gaping wound will heal. But the scar it leaves behind is an ugly one.

Much of the time I think I haven't made any progress on this journey. A journey that I will be on for the rest of my life. But when I go back and glance at some of my previous writings, I can see a change. Actually, I don't even have to look beyond the titles of my postings because, in the beginning, I titled everything with a number representing how many minutes had passed since he took his final breath.

Now I am rounding it up or down to the nearest half of a month.

And today...I almost forgot.

Progress? Maybe. Acceptance? Maybe a little of that too. Whatever it is...I hope it means I'm moving in the right direction.

I'm trying. I'm really trying.

Oh...and I have to edit to add this. At the graduation party, my sister had a display board of various pictures taken throughout Brittany's life. I don't know if anybody else noticed, but it didn't take me long to realize that she tried to include pictures of Brittany with as many different family members as possible. Of course, I quickly scanned the board to see if there was a picture of Chuck on it. And there it was...way up at the top. Who knows how many pictures she had to dig through to find one that included him? But my very thoughtful sister did it.

She remembered him.

Thank you! :)

Rejuvenated

After having a rough week emotionally for no particular reason, I got a dose of just the right medicine today.

I have a list of things that need to be done but I let it all go today. That "to-do" list is never-ending, it seems. As soon as I cross off one item, I usually think of three more things to add. I'm learning that sometimes we need to just take a time out and take a day off from our responsibilities. That's exactly what I did today.

A long time friend of ours picked me up and we took a motorcycle ride out to the park. It was where I wanted to go. It was a place that Chuck and I used to go to all the time before we had kids. The first few minutes were a little rough. All of the memories came flooding back. But there is no way I could feel sad surrounded by the glories of nature. I remembered the first time he took me there. I remember being in awe of my surroundings, standing in the middle of literally thousands of extremely tall trees that seem to reach half way to the clouds.

Instead of the memories making me sad today, they brought me a little bit of peace. Every now and then I caught myself desperately longing to go back to that time in my life. But for the most part, I felt happy that I have those memories to hold on to for the rest of my life. And I cherish them. I hold on to those times so tightly and I will never let them go. He was taken away from me but nothing will ever be able to take away the memories I have locked within my heart.

Yes, today was a good day.

The ride out there was peaceful. The weather was beautiful. The wind blowing through my hair. The sun shining on my face. Just sitting there. Sometimes talking, sometimes just silence and peace. And on the ride home, my heart felt content. I felt young. My soul felt refreshed and renewed. I was able to look at the world with a different set of eyes and with a lighter heart.

I felt alive.

Thank you, Friend. This day did more for me than anyone could ever realize.

Why him? Why us?

Disclaimer: The following words are dripping with self-pity and serve no purpose except to voice my anger and discontent with God.

Today has been okay. It's no different than any other unusually "sad" day I've had. The thing that sucks is I never know when they are going to happen. The square on my calendar is empty. This isn't the first of a specific holiday that he isn't here for. It isn't the 11th of the month. There isn't any major event coming up soon. I JUST MISS HIM. Plain and simple. It's not that I don't miss him every other day of the year. Some days it just seems easier to cope.

I've had plenty of these days in the past 8 months. I have to admit that I can handle them much better now than I could in the beginning. I've learned how to just roll with them, ride them out, and wait for a better day to come. Because it always does. It passes. I even get concerned at times that I'm feeling too good. That I'm not grieving enough. But when a day like this hits, I long for those good days again. At the same time, I'm relieved to feel sad because it gives me some false sort of "proof" that I love him as much as I keep saying I did. If I am grieving intensely, I surely must have loved him. I know it sounds crazy. I know it is crazy. It's the way my mind works these days though.

Besides being able to see that this sadness comes in waves that will subside, I've also learned how to accept them for what they are. I'm even starting to learn to embrace them. I'm learning how to allow myself to feel what I need to feel to get through them. Whether that means just staying in bed for half of the day or getting too busy to be able to stop and think about things...I am listening to my mind, my body, my heart. I am learning to tell myself that it's okay. No matter how I choose to deal with it, it's okay.

So that's why I decided to sit down tonight and write. This is how I choose to deal with these emotions tonight. I'm not trying to write something profound. I'm not trying to consider what others will think about what I write. I'm just putting it out there. Because that is what I need to do to feel a little better. Then I can go to bed and sleep (hopefully) peacefully.

My feelings today all come down to what could be compared to a 2-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. It's not pretty and I'm not proud of it. But it is honest.

I only have one question. For God, I guess. Why? Why, why, why? I'm reading a book right now about spiritual lessons we must learn and once we learn them we move on...blah, blah, blah. If that shit is true, don't you think that either one of us would have held back from learning these "spiritual lessons" until we were old? Don't you think I would have tried much harder to finish my business here to coincide with his timing? Don't you think he would have held back and waited for me? Or waited for the kids to grow up? Or waited until he had the chance to meet his future grandkids?

And, while I'm at it, why did it have to be such a painful exit? Why didn't we get more time to talk? Why didn't he get enough relief to do something...anything...to build a few more memories?

And, most importantly, why him???

Why him?

I can just hear the platitudes. "Only the good die young." "God only takes the best." "It was all a part of God's plan."

Whatever. Even if those were true, it doesn't make it any better. It doesn't comfort me when I see an 80+ year old couple holding hands while walking into a store. It definitely doesn't help me deal with the clerk at the gas station bitching about what a jerk her husband is. And I certainly can't stand reading a newspaper article about the guy who beat up his wife or got arrested for abusing his baby.

Why didn't God take those idiots instead?

We all have choices in life. Some things we choose are not healthy. They are not the things God intended us to do with our bodies. But, because we give in to temptations, does that mean we deserve to die? What about the 90-year-old woman who is overweight and smoked and drank her whole life? Why did she get 40 more years than Chuck? Does God really decide? Hell, is there even such a thing as God? Or a Divine Plan?

If I ever get answers, it will be after I'm gone. IF there is anything out there waiting for us. I sure hope there is. I've always had questions about all of this. But now? My questions and uncertainty have multiplied greatly. I know what I would like to believe. What are the chances that it will all work out exactly as I would like it to?

All I know for certain is that I don't understand it. I don't understand any of it. I never will. There is no answer good enough to satisfy my ultimate question. WHY DID THIS HAPPEN TO HIM? TO US??

Now that it's happened, I guess it doesn't matter why. It really doesn't matter. What's done is done. There is no going back.

I can't make sense of any of it. I could make a list of literally thousands of people I would have chosen to take his place.

But it doesn't matter now. He was the one who was taken from us. He enjoyed a lot in life. But he also struggled. We were nearing the finish line. We were getting close to the prize. We were almost to the point of being able to sit back and relax and enjoy what we've worked so hard for all of these years.

He will never have that satisfaction.

It's up to me now to continue working towards those goals. I would like to just forget about all of that. To not care. But then his efforts would be in vain. If he couldn't be here to bask in the glory of an honest, hard-working, long and fulfilled life...he would want at least one of us to experience that.

I will never forget all that he has contributed to my life and to so many others. I won't let anyone else forget either. That's my purpose now. His memory will live on through me and through those closest to him. That's the least I can do to honor a man who deserved so much more out of life.

I still can't help but question why, though.

Why him?

Why us?

It will never make sense. I will never have an answer that satisfies me. Maybe I'm not supposed to know the answer. But I will always ask the questions.

I used to love the morning

I have never enjoyed getting out of bed between 3:00 and 4:00 AM to go to work. But I loved getting home from work so early...knowing my official work was done for the day and I had the rest of the day ahead of me. I could decide whether this was going to be a productive day full of accomplishments or a lazy day spent laying around with a my nose in a book. There is something satisfying about the prospect of a whole day ahead of me.

Now my mornings are quite different. While I hear many who are grieving say that night time is the hardest, it is quite opposite for me. Maybe it's because I don't have trouble sleeping at night (thanks to the above-mentioned work schedule). Whatever the reason, I'm grateful that I'm usually asleep within minutes of my head touching the pillow.

But the morning feels almost like the 1993 movie "Groundhog Day". If you are not familiar with it, here is a brief synopsis:

A weather man is reluctantly sent to cover a story about a weather forecasting "rat" (as he calls it). This is his fourth year on the story, and he makes no effort to hide his frustration. On awaking the 'following' day he discovers that it's Groundhog Day again, and again, and again. First he uses this to his advantage, then comes the realization that he is doomed to spend the rest of eternity in the same place, seeing the same people do the same thing EVERY day.

You see, when I sleep it is my escape from reality. Dreams are odd, yet sometimes wonderful, things. We can do the impossible in our dreams. Even on those nights I don't remember any dreams, my mind seems to be at rest and I don't have to listen to that constant tape playing over and over. You know, that awful commentary about what has happened, what life is like now, what the future may or may not hold, and what I've lost. Yes...sleep is peaceful. Sleep makes me happy.

But then I have to wake up.

And I have to remember. All over again, every time I wake up, I have to remember. "Oh yeah, he's gone. Forever. He's gone forever. He got sick and he died. I watched him suffer and he died. I held his hand. I talked him through his last breaths. I planned and attended his funeral. I visit the cemetery. I have to accept that he's not ever coming back. He died. And I miss him. I will always miss him. I will always love him. But he's gone."

I don't look forward to the morning anymore. Some days are more difficult than others. I have a hard time feeling any satisfaction knowing that I have a whole day ahead of me. A day that I can be productive or just lazy if I feel like it.

I come home from work and his boots are still sitting there.
















His shoes are still under the bed.


















His jackets hang in the closet.























The items on his bedside table remain untouched (except for an occasional dusting off).


















But he's not here. He's not standing in front of the stove cooking a delicious breakfast. So there is no need for me to sit at the kitchen table. He's not here to discuss an article in the newspaper. So there is no need to read it. He's not here to help me decide what to do today. So there is no need to make any plans.

I can hold onto his things forever. I can try to maintain some sort of a routine. But it won't change the fact that he's gone.

And I have to remember that every morning when I wake up. Will there ever come a time when this isn't my first thought of the day? When I don't go through a play-by-play of those fateful weeks in my head? Or am I, as in the movie, "doomed to spend the rest of eternity in the same place, seeing the same people do the same thing EVERY day"? I can somewhat forget all of this while I sleep. Only to wake up and experience my heart breaking all over again. Every. Single. Morning.

As the day moves forward, it gets a little easier. My mood usually lightens as the sun begins to rise. I enjoy hearing the birds sing. I start to look forward to a few things. I begin to imagine the possibility that this day holds. I still miss him every single moment of every day. But the mornings are definitely the most difficult.

My nightmares begin the minute I wake up.

I Miss You.

It really is the little things... (aka...Wow, a blog entry about toilets!)

In my previous entry, I wrote about my bathroom remodeling project. The one snag I ran into was holding me up from doing anything else. It was a problem with the flange for the toilet...the one that bolts to the floor. I always left that job up to Chuck or my Dad to handle. I can sum up my feelings about that in one word...YUK! It's a messy job no matter how careful you are or how you choose to go about it.

I talked to my Dad about the problem the other night and he said he would help me fix it some time next week. I really didn't want to ask him for help. I honestly appreciate his knowledge and his willingness to help. But I wanted to be able to finish this project and know that I did it on my own. I wanted to prove that I can do what I already know...and that I can learn enough to also do what I don't know.

With a little advice from the mom-and-pop plumbing store down the street, some common sense thinking, and a lot of muscle...I FIXED IT!!! Tonight I have a toilet that 1) works, 2) sits flush down on the floor, 3) doesn't tip if you lean a little bit, and 4) doesn't leak.

It's so easy to take something as simple as a toilet for granted. Even if it were a simple job like replacing the bolts and wax ring, I might still feel that way. But no. This required about 45 minutes with a Sawzall, a wrecking bar and a drill. (I guarantee I will be sore tomorrow!)

The bottom line is that I did it and I am proud of myself over a stupid toilet! But I can't forget the underlying fact that now I have much more confidence moving into the rest of the project. I wonder what I can learn (or what kind of problems I will run into) when I begin to re-route the plumbing for the sink?

Earlier today, I had a whole different idea about what I wanted to write about here. Maybe I still will later on tonight or on a different day. But tonight I am bursting with pride over a toilet! It really is about more than the toilet though. It was a learning experience. Sure, I learned how to do yet another home repair. But I also learned that I am capable. I am independent. I have the capacity to learn. I can trust myself to attempt these things.

I'm starting to think that I can do anything I set my mind to. And it's a pretty amazing feeling!