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.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
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! :)
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! :)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Friday, July 3, 2009
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!
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!
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