Perhaps my subconscious knew this was coming and that's why I was dreading New Years Eve.
We got home tonight and Maya wanted to play more...but sans a nap it was past bed time at 8:25 p.m. She was balking and trying to postpone so after giving her the choice to either choose a book to read before bed or just go straight to bed (since she was goofing around) she instead stood in front of her closet and sobbed.
Big, heaving alligator tears.
"I want my daddy to come back."
In the end I was in tears, she was in tears and we both just wanted Chris back. We spent 30 minutes talking about how sad it makes us that he can't be with us. Just when I thought she was okay she turned to me and said "I just want to show daddy all the stuff I got for Christmas." All I could think was, I do too. Keeping my composure when my heart feels broken and I'm watching my 3 1/2 year old's heart aching for her daddy makes me feel like I have been fed through a shredder.
In the end, I know it started in the same way it used to start when Chris was still here. It was a consistent pattern that occurred once a week or so in which she would be mad at me and instead want daddy or want daddy to come home from work. He was certainly the softy around here and I was the one who drew the lines and regulated the rules. She had Chris wrapped around her little finger and they both knew it.
Tonight she was overly tired, still excited about playing with her friends this evening and mad at me. It still does not negate the fact that we are both heart broken and tonight it was raw.
Then, I think I made matters worse when I put on a pair of Chris' lounge pants only to have the dog smell them and get excited. Bad choice. She ran around trying to find Chris. Little does she know, I walk around the house trying to find him too. I look for things he left laying around, papers he wrote on, clothes left unwashed...
In the end. I really have found all that there is to find. Due to the circumstances, my bathroom is undergoing a renovation, my basement/playroom has been completely rearranged and organized which then altered the arrangement of my bedroom. Everything that was left has now been washed, put away or stored. In the end, I try to convince myself it is stuff...not an extension of Chris. However, looking at his favorite baseball hat, touching the coat he always wore, seeing his work boots in the garage make my heart ache for the man who used to fill them.
So, to 2010...I will miss you. With you concluded the memory making with the man I love. I have no idea where 2011 is going to take us but I am positive it is going to be difficult and is going to test us individually and as a family. Don't get me wrong, I know that things will even out and that these episodes, with time, will become fewer and further between. However, the reality is that this is not going to get easier yet.
Like waves rolling in we are swept over then left to recover in the sand until the next wave rolls back through the uneven landscape of our lives. With time, the waves will quit sweeping us off our feet but until then I think I'll put my life jacket on.
Friday, December 31, 2010
The 'Normal' Stuff
Here we are at Great Wolf Lodge enjoying the lil kid slide all together!
Then we decorated...while others of us tried to figure out what the heck was going on.
Maya had a Christmas program at school. The class sang 6 songs. Incredibly cute and was a moment I wished Chris had been here for. He would have beamed. Owen came along to cause trouble.
We painted reindeer masks...and some of us ate paint.
Maya and I tried our hand, once again, at making a Gingerbread House.
Christmas Eve found us at my grandma's house where we also had an encounter with Santa. Oddly, my children walked right up and sat down.
Christmas morning was glutenous. So many presents.
Maya was VERY excited for me to open my present. She picked out a sweater and a dolphin pillow pet for me.
Christmas evening found Owen WAY over all the presents. Instead he watched us open his presents, turned on the singing decorations and used exorbitant amounts of chapstick.
The days after Christmas started our adventure in remodeling the bathroom. Here is Maya helping me paint. She was very proud of 'her wall' and slightly offended when I filled in the white parts.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
A New Year
In my head Christmas was this horrendous hurdle I was going to have to get over. I realized quite suddenly it is in fact New Years. This was especially startling to me since Chris and I had no real attachment to the holiday nor did we have any specific rituals we performed. It really has nothing to do with Chris yet everything to do with him. Strangely, though Christmas was hard, this feels more difficult.
My hang up? This begins a new calendar year without Chris. I keep thinking about minute details like the fact that he will have never written 2011. Ever. Just around the corner is also my 34th birthday as well as Owen's 1/2 birthday. Then the other day I was thinking that come April 2011 I will cross many bridges. My first anniversary since Chris' death which would have marked our 6th. Maya's 4th birthday. The birth of a niece Chris never got to meet. The six month anniversary of his passing. Finally, I will have reached the age Chris was when he died. Then, do I become older?
Yesterday I got down a calendar we received in the mail and wrote in some appointments and obligations I needed to remember when my current calendar goes into exile. Until last year, Chris always picked out our calendar. Last year I made one on Shutterfly. This year...I am using a free calendar I got from Woodland Park Zoo. I am sure it is some sort of subconscious protest to my situation. Reading that last sentence made me laugh...situation!?! I guess it seems minimal or easily overcome if I call it my situation instead of my life.
So, what to do? I think my technique is going to involve deep breathing and the old grin and bear it or fake it til you make it idea. It will be a low key night with Chris' brother's family and some good friends. The kids will be wild and wound up and we will enjoy some pizza and good company. It probably won't sink in until I get home and am trying to negotiate the simultaneous bedtimes on my own after being out. After the kiddos are in bed I am sure the silence will set in.
Each of the past three nights I have had a moment where I said to myself, 'now what?' Then the onslaught of memories comes flooding in. The swats on my booty I always received walking up to bed, the debate about who was going to take the dog to her crate, the discussion about how late we stayed up, questions about what I was going to do with the kids the next morning, the drawing of the invisible line down our bed so Chris' 5 pillows wouldn't smother me, laughing as we fished My Little Ponies or other small objects out of our bed. It's just so darn quiet here after the kids go to sleep. Tonight I waited for it. I could sense it coming. The silence slowly sets in and covers my house and makes things seem foggy and slow. Now I sit in my king size bed and think I should just take it out back, burn it and buy a double. Not really but this bed is gigantic.
One of these nights I am going to go to bed at a normal time. Really...I will.
My hang up? This begins a new calendar year without Chris. I keep thinking about minute details like the fact that he will have never written 2011. Ever. Just around the corner is also my 34th birthday as well as Owen's 1/2 birthday. Then the other day I was thinking that come April 2011 I will cross many bridges. My first anniversary since Chris' death which would have marked our 6th. Maya's 4th birthday. The birth of a niece Chris never got to meet. The six month anniversary of his passing. Finally, I will have reached the age Chris was when he died. Then, do I become older?
Yesterday I got down a calendar we received in the mail and wrote in some appointments and obligations I needed to remember when my current calendar goes into exile. Until last year, Chris always picked out our calendar. Last year I made one on Shutterfly. This year...I am using a free calendar I got from Woodland Park Zoo. I am sure it is some sort of subconscious protest to my situation. Reading that last sentence made me laugh...situation!?! I guess it seems minimal or easily overcome if I call it my situation instead of my life.
So, what to do? I think my technique is going to involve deep breathing and the old grin and bear it or fake it til you make it idea. It will be a low key night with Chris' brother's family and some good friends. The kids will be wild and wound up and we will enjoy some pizza and good company. It probably won't sink in until I get home and am trying to negotiate the simultaneous bedtimes on my own after being out. After the kiddos are in bed I am sure the silence will set in.
Each of the past three nights I have had a moment where I said to myself, 'now what?' Then the onslaught of memories comes flooding in. The swats on my booty I always received walking up to bed, the debate about who was going to take the dog to her crate, the discussion about how late we stayed up, questions about what I was going to do with the kids the next morning, the drawing of the invisible line down our bed so Chris' 5 pillows wouldn't smother me, laughing as we fished My Little Ponies or other small objects out of our bed. It's just so darn quiet here after the kids go to sleep. Tonight I waited for it. I could sense it coming. The silence slowly sets in and covers my house and makes things seem foggy and slow. Now I sit in my king size bed and think I should just take it out back, burn it and buy a double. Not really but this bed is gigantic.
One of these nights I am going to go to bed at a normal time. Really...I will.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Fragile
Chris' best friend and his wife took Maya with them to a high school basketball game tonight which she LOVED! When she got home she told me all about the white players and the blue players, shooting the ball and cheering. Thankful doesn't do justice to how I feel about friends and family incorporating us into the threads of their lives. Tonight Maya went with the Pierce family to the game and I stayed home to get Owen in bed on time but was kept company by my awesome cousin Laura on this, my second night solo. We have so many people who have made us part of their immediate family and have invited us to take part in their every day lives.
After the kids were in bed I read my email. An email from a friend made me realize I am not crazy. Life is fragile and the existence of our bodies is only a result of our body working with us and itself. It was a reminder to me that there are amazing people in this world in circumstances beyond their control. The only way around them is through them, and the outcome is not always self directed. This is such a reminder to me.
Tonight I am praying as I have every one of the last 43 days. Maybe that sounds odd to you but prayer had not been part of the daily rituals in my life during the most recent years. I have been praying for strength and endurance, for personal knowledge about when to let go and let be, for Chris, for my kid's healing, for peace and healing for those who loved Chris, and for personal understanding of this life and my intended journey.
Tonight I began praying for strength and healing for a friend whose spirit and internal beauty radiate.
After the kids were in bed I read my email. An email from a friend made me realize I am not crazy. Life is fragile and the existence of our bodies is only a result of our body working with us and itself. It was a reminder to me that there are amazing people in this world in circumstances beyond their control. The only way around them is through them, and the outcome is not always self directed. This is such a reminder to me.
Tonight I am praying as I have every one of the last 43 days. Maybe that sounds odd to you but prayer had not been part of the daily rituals in my life during the most recent years. I have been praying for strength and endurance, for personal knowledge about when to let go and let be, for Chris, for my kid's healing, for peace and healing for those who loved Chris, and for personal understanding of this life and my intended journey.
Tonight I began praying for strength and healing for a friend whose spirit and internal beauty radiate.
42
It's 1 a.m. technically the morning after my first night flying solo though after would indicate I've slept which I have not. Six weeks and this is the first night I have spent alone in my house. I have been blessed with amazing people who have cushioned this fall for me, but it was time. Like a band aid, right? We have had six weeks to work through the initial shock and now it's time to transition to a new normal for us as a family. In my head I know that I should be sleeping...head on my pillow instead of sitting up in bed surfing the Internet. There is something accepting about going to sleep. It's not that I don't accept Chris is gone. I object to it fiercely but I accept that there is no going back once this cliff has been jumped. I'm scared tonight. Scared of the exhaustion that I am sure is going to set in now that we are headed back into a 'normal' routine where we don't have people helping us function in our daily tasks. I'm scared of how lonely this is going to feel when my husband doesn't come home to save me from the chaos at 4 p.m. . I'm scared that I will begin to feel more raw than I already do. I am giving myself a pep talk that it will be ok if things aren't always done....right?! My type A personality isn't really buying it quite yet. I think I'll make a list...then I will smile because I will be able to hear Chris mocking my list making self-soothing technique I use to reduce my anxiety.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Pearl Jam
Between the painting, hanging of light fixtures and filling holes from old fixtures, I was singing The End by Pearl Jam today. It's not my favorite song by Pearl Jam though a few of the lines ring true to me right now. I can almost hear Chris telling me he just wanted to grow old. I never, even in my wildest, 'worst case scenario' dreams, would imagine that Chris would not get to grow old with me. The curtain closed after the first act...
Yesterday I went to Lowe's to pick up a new light fixture, check out bathroom counters and find light switch covers and instead I pulled in to the parking lot and had a good cry. The store is a 7 or so minute drive from my house and as I was driving across the trestle, Three Little Birds came on my IPOD. It made me smile. Some how that smile transformed into irritation and sadness by the time I parked my car; I was just mad. It should have been Chris' job to go to Lowe's on his way home from work, not mine.
Today I dove into my bathroom remodel project thanks to a great sister in law who took Maya to the bounce house and my parents who wrangled Owen. It was cathartic. Yes Brent, I painted. No flooring yet and no Roth IRA but there is paint!
Yesterday I went to Lowe's to pick up a new light fixture, check out bathroom counters and find light switch covers and instead I pulled in to the parking lot and had a good cry. The store is a 7 or so minute drive from my house and as I was driving across the trestle, Three Little Birds came on my IPOD. It made me smile. Some how that smile transformed into irritation and sadness by the time I parked my car; I was just mad. It should have been Chris' job to go to Lowe's on his way home from work, not mine.
Today I dove into my bathroom remodel project thanks to a great sister in law who took Maya to the bounce house and my parents who wrangled Owen. It was cathartic. Yes Brent, I painted. No flooring yet and no Roth IRA but there is paint!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christmas
I contemplated, Merry Christmas today and couldn't decide if the sentence needed to end with a question mark, exclamation point or a period. Perhaps an ellipsis would have been more situationally appropriate. I'm pretty sure I just made that word up. I am making up my life minute by minute so why not create my own language while I am at it?
The kids had a Merry Christmas! Owen 'slept in' until 7:3o. Maya came down the stairs moments after Owen, asking if Santa came and was much faster than me to the tree where she immediately started ripping stuff out of stockings. Oddly, she started with the Toy Story alien in Owen's stocking, not the Pillow Pet or Rapunzel Prince she had been asking for which were also in plain view. Funny girl. Christmas was glutenous. At one point my mom asked me what Chris would have thought which made me laugh. He would have thought I had lost my marbles letting the kids have so much stuff. He was always worried about our kids being spoiled or becoming 'the brats'. The funny thing is that I hardly bought anything. The presents were from family, friends, a local toy store owner who sponsored our Christmas (Yay Debbie at Rowdy Rascals) and even a few strangers who wanted to reach out to us on this major milestone on this journey. I thought about holding some of the gifts back for later use then thought f*** it. After all we have been through, we deserve some gluttony today. I did laugh, however, that after the onslaught of gifts Maya sat playing with Owen's Geotrax while Owen was playing with Maya's GloStation.
My Christmas was a Merry Christmas... Ms English teacher will have you know that the ellipsis serves several purposes one of which is to indicate a trailing off into silence. I suppose the crux of this situation is silence. Last night at my grandma's house, filled to the brim with aunts, uncles, cousins, I felt strangely silent. I watched my cousins' husband casually bend over to whisper something in her ear and felt the pang of jealousy. There is no one to casually share their whispered analysis of someone's comment or a wildly inappropriate comment into my ear. Instead, there is that strange buzzing in my ears akin to buzzing you hear after leaving a concert. My life with Chris was in surround sound. This life without him is like watching an action film on mute without my glasses on. I can sort of distinguish what's going on but not enough to really follow. So, instead of passing comments and touches, I sat thinking about how sad it was to sit alone and try to juggle the kids eating in two different places from me by myself. I digress. In the end, what that ellipsis indicates is a lack of spoiling for me. Yes, you read that correctly. I suppose I took for granted the man who knew what I needed, who create a 'limit' yet always spent twice what he intended and who put great thought, heart and gusto into gift giving. Don't get me wrong, I got some great gifts from my parents (i.e. a new Kitchenaid Mixer and Coffee Maker) but it was awkwardly sad to reach my first Chris-less Christmas. Now I sound like Dr. Seuss. I, did, however, receive two amazing gifts, both memorializing Chris. One was a beautiful frame with a quote I posted several weeks ago. The frame is on my dresser below my wedding picture. The second is a beautiful commemoration of Chris' love for us written by a friend's brother. I love them but wish more than anything I didn't have to be that person receiving these gifts. It is circular. I love them. I wonder why me. I feel bad for myself, for Chris, for the kids. I feel angry for feeling bad. I feel sad for feeling angry. I feel like not feeling for a few minutes so I pretend it's all ok. Then I start over with something else. In the end, I wish I had just one thing off the list I found last night that he had created; it contained ideas of what to get me for Christmas. It also made me sad that this is the first Christmas I did not buy him scratch tickets and boxers in the past 7 years. Instead I opened his drawers to momentarily look at his clothes. For a moment I could smell him, I could feel his skin, I could see the sparkle in those beautiful hazel eyes. And then it's gone again.
So, Merry Christmas. I am blessed to have my children and the support of wonderful people who love us and who love Chris. I am blessed to have spent 7 years with a man who loved me with passion and gusto and who was an amazing father to my children. I couldn't have asked for a better partner in crime. Merry Christmas, Christopher.
The kids had a Merry Christmas! Owen 'slept in' until 7:3o. Maya came down the stairs moments after Owen, asking if Santa came and was much faster than me to the tree where she immediately started ripping stuff out of stockings. Oddly, she started with the Toy Story alien in Owen's stocking, not the Pillow Pet or Rapunzel Prince she had been asking for which were also in plain view. Funny girl. Christmas was glutenous. At one point my mom asked me what Chris would have thought which made me laugh. He would have thought I had lost my marbles letting the kids have so much stuff. He was always worried about our kids being spoiled or becoming 'the brats'. The funny thing is that I hardly bought anything. The presents were from family, friends, a local toy store owner who sponsored our Christmas (Yay Debbie at Rowdy Rascals) and even a few strangers who wanted to reach out to us on this major milestone on this journey. I thought about holding some of the gifts back for later use then thought f*** it. After all we have been through, we deserve some gluttony today. I did laugh, however, that after the onslaught of gifts Maya sat playing with Owen's Geotrax while Owen was playing with Maya's GloStation.
My Christmas was a Merry Christmas... Ms English teacher will have you know that the ellipsis serves several purposes one of which is to indicate a trailing off into silence. I suppose the crux of this situation is silence. Last night at my grandma's house, filled to the brim with aunts, uncles, cousins, I felt strangely silent. I watched my cousins' husband casually bend over to whisper something in her ear and felt the pang of jealousy. There is no one to casually share their whispered analysis of someone's comment or a wildly inappropriate comment into my ear. Instead, there is that strange buzzing in my ears akin to buzzing you hear after leaving a concert. My life with Chris was in surround sound. This life without him is like watching an action film on mute without my glasses on. I can sort of distinguish what's going on but not enough to really follow. So, instead of passing comments and touches, I sat thinking about how sad it was to sit alone and try to juggle the kids eating in two different places from me by myself. I digress. In the end, what that ellipsis indicates is a lack of spoiling for me. Yes, you read that correctly. I suppose I took for granted the man who knew what I needed, who create a 'limit' yet always spent twice what he intended and who put great thought, heart and gusto into gift giving. Don't get me wrong, I got some great gifts from my parents (i.e. a new Kitchenaid Mixer and Coffee Maker) but it was awkwardly sad to reach my first Chris-less Christmas. Now I sound like Dr. Seuss. I, did, however, receive two amazing gifts, both memorializing Chris. One was a beautiful frame with a quote I posted several weeks ago. The frame is on my dresser below my wedding picture. The second is a beautiful commemoration of Chris' love for us written by a friend's brother. I love them but wish more than anything I didn't have to be that person receiving these gifts. It is circular. I love them. I wonder why me. I feel bad for myself, for Chris, for the kids. I feel angry for feeling bad. I feel sad for feeling angry. I feel like not feeling for a few minutes so I pretend it's all ok. Then I start over with something else. In the end, I wish I had just one thing off the list I found last night that he had created; it contained ideas of what to get me for Christmas. It also made me sad that this is the first Christmas I did not buy him scratch tickets and boxers in the past 7 years. Instead I opened his drawers to momentarily look at his clothes. For a moment I could smell him, I could feel his skin, I could see the sparkle in those beautiful hazel eyes. And then it's gone again.
So, Merry Christmas. I am blessed to have my children and the support of wonderful people who love us and who love Chris. I am blessed to have spent 7 years with a man who loved me with passion and gusto and who was an amazing father to my children. I couldn't have asked for a better partner in crime. Merry Christmas, Christopher.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Today
Today I am thankful for good days and good friends
I am thankful for laughter that echos in the chambers of my heart
I am thankful for the life that glistens in the eyes of my daughter
I am thankful for the comfort of a baby boy who loves to snuggle.
Today while the world bustles with the purpose of holidays,
I remember you, kissing me for the first time at the door of my apartment,
I remember you amazed by the birth of our baby girl, all smiles and laughter
I remember you asleep with our son, secretly happy to have your boy,
I remember.
Through the tears and heartache,
I will keep you alive in the stories I tell our children
I will keep our secrets safe in the chambers of my heart
I will keep your spirit alive through the way I live my life.
Tonight, I sleep and dream of you
Smiling
Laughing
Loving.
I am thankful for laughter that echos in the chambers of my heart
I am thankful for the life that glistens in the eyes of my daughter
I am thankful for the comfort of a baby boy who loves to snuggle.
Today while the world bustles with the purpose of holidays,
I remember you, kissing me for the first time at the door of my apartment,
I remember you amazed by the birth of our baby girl, all smiles and laughter
I remember you asleep with our son, secretly happy to have your boy,
I remember.
Through the tears and heartache,
I will keep you alive in the stories I tell our children
I will keep our secrets safe in the chambers of my heart
I will keep your spirit alive through the way I live my life.
Tonight, I sleep and dream of you
Smiling
Laughing
Loving.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Between the Lines
I have been trying to put in to words what grief feels like. I have not been completely foreign to death but most of those who have passed were elderly relatives. Losing my spouse is not losing my grandmother or great grandfather. The death of an individual is incomparable to any other as is the pain felt by one individual to the next. I don't know what it's like to lose my best friend of 26 years, my son or my brother-in-law but I know what it feels like to lose my spouse.
It is physically exhausting. My muscles ache like I have had the most strenuous workout. My joints feel like I have aged 30 years, and my back and neck feel like I have slept wrong every one of the past 32 nights. I'm cold all the time and the dark circles under my eyes seem to elicit stronger responses than I imagined possible.
It is emotionally exhausting. I vacillate between feeling overwhelming sadness and excruciating anger. The issue with the anger is that it is widespread and indiscriminate. I have spent some days wondering what I did to deserve this torture and others giving myself continual pep talks, trying to make myself feel less overpowered by the steamroller cruising down the freeway of my life.
It is socially exhausting. We have had a staggering amount of support. It is easier when other people are here but perhaps because it's easier to ignore the in-my-face emptiness left in my life, my house, my bed since Chris died. Our friends are amazing, over the top, outstanding. They have called to check in, sent me texts, mailed me cards, shared all sorts of stories about Chris, donated to the memorial fund and prayed for us. It is all a double edged sword in that my continual need for this support is only a reminder of this vacuous space in my life. My 'normal' life did not require so much intervention or help. This life requires an outrageous amount of help to make it through a single day or sometimes a single hour.
In the end, my life does not even faintly resemble what I dreamed it would and it never will. Time. I suppose this is truly the only answer. I have to believe that in time these dreams will evolve into ones that are able to be accomplished by my three person family with a lone parent and that it will not feel painful to create new memories and conceive new dreams.
While I wait, I try remember the moments that make me smile and watch my children as they continue to grow and change each day, still curious about this world, still playing and laughing and still longing for protection from the storm raging in our life.
It is physically exhausting. My muscles ache like I have had the most strenuous workout. My joints feel like I have aged 30 years, and my back and neck feel like I have slept wrong every one of the past 32 nights. I'm cold all the time and the dark circles under my eyes seem to elicit stronger responses than I imagined possible.
It is emotionally exhausting. I vacillate between feeling overwhelming sadness and excruciating anger. The issue with the anger is that it is widespread and indiscriminate. I have spent some days wondering what I did to deserve this torture and others giving myself continual pep talks, trying to make myself feel less overpowered by the steamroller cruising down the freeway of my life.
It is socially exhausting. We have had a staggering amount of support. It is easier when other people are here but perhaps because it's easier to ignore the in-my-face emptiness left in my life, my house, my bed since Chris died. Our friends are amazing, over the top, outstanding. They have called to check in, sent me texts, mailed me cards, shared all sorts of stories about Chris, donated to the memorial fund and prayed for us. It is all a double edged sword in that my continual need for this support is only a reminder of this vacuous space in my life. My 'normal' life did not require so much intervention or help. This life requires an outrageous amount of help to make it through a single day or sometimes a single hour.
In the end, my life does not even faintly resemble what I dreamed it would and it never will. Time. I suppose this is truly the only answer. I have to believe that in time these dreams will evolve into ones that are able to be accomplished by my three person family with a lone parent and that it will not feel painful to create new memories and conceive new dreams.
While I wait, I try remember the moments that make me smile and watch my children as they continue to grow and change each day, still curious about this world, still playing and laughing and still longing for protection from the storm raging in our life.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Honor
At 6:10 a.m. this morning I could hear Owen waking up. Goodness that boy doesn't cut his momma a break even today.
I realized immediately...today it's been a month. I know, I already blogged about that, right? What more to say?
Chris' best friend came by the house to check out a project for me. My bathroom is getting a make over. The sound of the sliding shower door makes my stomach turn as does the light brown color on the walls. I can't walk in there without wondering what Chris' last view of this world was. I need to reclaim this space. Death cannot have it. My bedroom is next.
As Brent was leaving I realized that he had come to my house at almost the exact same time one month ago. I remember the look on his face. I knew it was real. Strangely, I couldn't imagine what my husband would do on the other side without his best friend of 26 years.
Shortly after Brent left, I watched as a policeman walked up my front steps...then another, and another. At first I wondered if one of the kids had got hold of the phone again and accidentally called 911 like they did last summer. When I opened the door, I realized there were 5 policemen - all familiar faces from one month ago today. I wonder if their timing was purposeful.
Officer Stevenson gave me a card and spoke for the group. He told me how the call had impacted all of them and that they would not soon forget it. He had tears in his eyes. I have often reflected on the words Officer Stevenson spoke to me the day Chris died. We were sitting on my back deck, it was raining hard and the water was leaking through the deck roof. I kept apologizing to him that he was getting wet. I felt like I needed to be a good host. He told me his father died in an accident when he was 4. I asked him what his mother did. He told me his story, tears in his eyes, and offered a compassionate shoulder and an understanding ear. He told me I could do it. My kids would be OK. He told me the response of the people already at my house was amazing and that I would have support. I have thought often of this compassionate police officer and will forever appreciate the words of encouragement and the tears in his eyes. I also have to believe there was a reason he was on this call. He was there to connect with me. I needed someone to reign me in an tell me my Earthly life was not ending even if Chris' had.
Today, I cried. I shed tears for the fact that time moves on and pushes me further away from the comforting embrace of my best friend. I shed tears for the IPod that is sitting unused on my counter, for the drawers of clothes that no longer have an owner and for the 172 pages of the book he was reading that will go unread. I shed tears for the fact that there is no one here to wipe them away and keep the world at bay for me.
I realized immediately...today it's been a month. I know, I already blogged about that, right? What more to say?
Chris' best friend came by the house to check out a project for me. My bathroom is getting a make over. The sound of the sliding shower door makes my stomach turn as does the light brown color on the walls. I can't walk in there without wondering what Chris' last view of this world was. I need to reclaim this space. Death cannot have it. My bedroom is next.
As Brent was leaving I realized that he had come to my house at almost the exact same time one month ago. I remember the look on his face. I knew it was real. Strangely, I couldn't imagine what my husband would do on the other side without his best friend of 26 years.
Shortly after Brent left, I watched as a policeman walked up my front steps...then another, and another. At first I wondered if one of the kids had got hold of the phone again and accidentally called 911 like they did last summer. When I opened the door, I realized there were 5 policemen - all familiar faces from one month ago today. I wonder if their timing was purposeful.
Officer Stevenson gave me a card and spoke for the group. He told me how the call had impacted all of them and that they would not soon forget it. He had tears in his eyes. I have often reflected on the words Officer Stevenson spoke to me the day Chris died. We were sitting on my back deck, it was raining hard and the water was leaking through the deck roof. I kept apologizing to him that he was getting wet. I felt like I needed to be a good host. He told me his father died in an accident when he was 4. I asked him what his mother did. He told me his story, tears in his eyes, and offered a compassionate shoulder and an understanding ear. He told me I could do it. My kids would be OK. He told me the response of the people already at my house was amazing and that I would have support. I have thought often of this compassionate police officer and will forever appreciate the words of encouragement and the tears in his eyes. I also have to believe there was a reason he was on this call. He was there to connect with me. I needed someone to reign me in an tell me my Earthly life was not ending even if Chris' had.
Today, I cried. I shed tears for the fact that time moves on and pushes me further away from the comforting embrace of my best friend. I shed tears for the IPod that is sitting unused on my counter, for the drawers of clothes that no longer have an owner and for the 172 pages of the book he was reading that will go unread. I shed tears for the fact that there is no one here to wipe them away and keep the world at bay for me.
Normal Stuff
I swear my kids have been doing 'normal' stuff this holiday season...even if it was with me dragging myself through the motions in my molasses covered life. I will update these things one night soon... until then you'll have to imagine them smiling in front of our Christmas tree, enjoying a Santa brunch, and Maya being 'The Shinning Star" at preschool. Even with my heart aching and my body wanting to reject these new memories that Chris is not here to make with us, they are happening and I am doing my best to not live in a complete haze but to take pictures and record them in my memory.
December 17th 2010
One month.
My psychological standpoint is already out there.
My kids....
Owen is rolling with the punches, getting used to going to anyone who is around for what he wants or needs. He's taken his Uncle Brent up to see the light machine in his room, uses his signs to tell people he is hungry or thirsty and is happy to be held or played with by anyone who has stopped by to keep us company or lend a hand. He was needy, wanting to always be held the first week after Chris died. Now he's back to his contented self...happy and smiling. To see the normalcy in him is reassuring that I will find a normalcy in myself.
Maya...the situation has broken her heart. Chris was her best friend. She used wake up each morning and ask me , "Is daddy here?" Maya and Chris both lived for the weekend adventures we all had together. At first she was sad....sad, sad. She wanted him to come back from Heaven. She wanted to give him hug. She wanted to understand, and we all do, why he is gone and not with us. She talked about him in her sleep and became restless at night. She is easily upset by the most minor things...like a comment I made about a shirt that is getting to small. She cried and told me she didn't want the shirt to go away. Really, she has weathered this ugly storm well so far and is more even keel on most days and a roller coaster on others. Some days she is sad...others she is very matter of fact about her Daddy in Heaven and throws her Invisible String up to him. It breaks my heart that she has had this innocence taken from her at such a young age.
So what do I believe?
I wish I could offer a complete answer but 4 weeks in to this new life...I don't have the picture yet. I wish I could say more. I don't understand why my children are being required to live a life in which they will not be able to directly remember what an awesome daddy they had...I feel like it is such a great injustice to them and to him.
I love you Chris. It feels like 4 days you have been gone, not 4 weeks.
My psychological standpoint is already out there.
My kids....
Owen is rolling with the punches, getting used to going to anyone who is around for what he wants or needs. He's taken his Uncle Brent up to see the light machine in his room, uses his signs to tell people he is hungry or thirsty and is happy to be held or played with by anyone who has stopped by to keep us company or lend a hand. He was needy, wanting to always be held the first week after Chris died. Now he's back to his contented self...happy and smiling. To see the normalcy in him is reassuring that I will find a normalcy in myself.
Maya...the situation has broken her heart. Chris was her best friend. She used wake up each morning and ask me , "Is daddy here?" Maya and Chris both lived for the weekend adventures we all had together. At first she was sad....sad, sad. She wanted him to come back from Heaven. She wanted to give him hug. She wanted to understand, and we all do, why he is gone and not with us. She talked about him in her sleep and became restless at night. She is easily upset by the most minor things...like a comment I made about a shirt that is getting to small. She cried and told me she didn't want the shirt to go away. Really, she has weathered this ugly storm well so far and is more even keel on most days and a roller coaster on others. Some days she is sad...others she is very matter of fact about her Daddy in Heaven and throws her Invisible String up to him. It breaks my heart that she has had this innocence taken from her at such a young age.
So what do I believe?
I wish I could offer a complete answer but 4 weeks in to this new life...I don't have the picture yet. I wish I could say more. I don't understand why my children are being required to live a life in which they will not be able to directly remember what an awesome daddy they had...I feel like it is such a great injustice to them and to him.
I love you Chris. It feels like 4 days you have been gone, not 4 weeks.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
To blog or not to blog.
Four weeks ago Chris died, suddenly, in a manner that has shaken me physically, spiritually, emotionally and even socially in a way I could never have understood prior to now.
That morning he was wearing a red t-shirt that said 'Cougar Cage Camp'. I knew he had owned that shirt for a long time. Posthumously I found out that the shirt is about 17 years old. My last view of Chris in this world was him ascending my stairwell, the back of that red shirt and the back of his head. Our last conversation was about our children.
Where to find solace?
I am not sure if that is really a question or a conundrum. Do I find solace in the memories? The thoughts of the Other Side? His Clothes? His kids? All of these are a double edged sword. With each comes not only peace but the realization that this is permanent, final, absolute and that the life I was leading at 9 a.m. on Wednesday November 17, 2010, no longer resembled the life I was leading by 10 a.m that same day.
Blindsided.
I say that, but is it true? In retrospect I see events, conversations, thoughts, dreams that I wonder if they foreshadowed the events that would transpire.
Chris had a dream about a month before he died that bothered him. In his dream someone was trying to take Owen away from him. It was just the two of them and he was physically fighting this person to keep Owen. Chris wasn't bothered by much especially a dream. But this dream was different. He said it seemed so real.
I heard a cough. I heard a thud. A regular morning.
I wonder how long it took him to realize what was happening or if he was already gone from his body before the realization came. I wonder why I wasn't intended to save him but only to find him. In the same breath, I am thankful it was me.
What, then, is grief?
I remember on 9/11 feeling an overwhelming sense of grief. I couldn't figure out why it shook me so much. I felt heavy, slow, sad and on edge with my emotions. Strangers.
I think grief has felt different each of the past 29 days. Disbelief. Shock. Sadness. Terror. Nauseating.
Today it feels heavy. I have grown accustomed to the 'elephant on my chest' phenomenon. Today I managed to move more. I vacuumed and cleaned the wood floors on the main floor of my house. I washed a few windows, cleaned the TV off and disinfected a number of things trying to do away with this virus we have all had. Now it is silent. Maya and Grandma are at Target and Owen is asleep. I wonder if this is how quite the evenings will be once the dust has settled and we are 'on our own.' Quiet. I think I need to learn to meditate.
What's wrong?
This feels like a loaded question. My inner response, is 'duh'? But that's a little on the rude side. Of course, everyone around me knows what is wrong. But where do you begin to answer that question?
In his voice.
This morning I made a final phone call in regard to Chris. I had his cell phone turned off. It took 4 weeks and I know I paid for a whole month for a useless phone that even when he was here to use it, he did not. My hang up, I discovered yesterday, was his voice mail message. It was the only place I could hear him say his own name. I recorded it. Today I woke up and made the call.
Shhhhhhhhhhh.
Am I going to be the woman that hushes the room? Will I be the one who walks in to Maya's kindergarten classroom in two years to have other parents give me that 'knowing' look. Will they know what to say to me when they can't rant about normal life and husband issues? Will I know what to say or when to respond? Will they quiet when I mention my dead husband? Can I even call him that since legally our marriage ended on November 17, 2010?
Maybe this will be hard for you to read. Perhaps it will be too difficult for me to write. I guess as with many things in my life, time will tell.
Four weeks ago Chris died, suddenly, in a manner that has shaken me physically, spiritually, emotionally and even socially in a way I could never have understood prior to now.
That morning he was wearing a red t-shirt that said 'Cougar Cage Camp'. I knew he had owned that shirt for a long time. Posthumously I found out that the shirt is about 17 years old. My last view of Chris in this world was him ascending my stairwell, the back of that red shirt and the back of his head. Our last conversation was about our children.
Where to find solace?
I am not sure if that is really a question or a conundrum. Do I find solace in the memories? The thoughts of the Other Side? His Clothes? His kids? All of these are a double edged sword. With each comes not only peace but the realization that this is permanent, final, absolute and that the life I was leading at 9 a.m. on Wednesday November 17, 2010, no longer resembled the life I was leading by 10 a.m that same day.
Blindsided.
I say that, but is it true? In retrospect I see events, conversations, thoughts, dreams that I wonder if they foreshadowed the events that would transpire.
Chris had a dream about a month before he died that bothered him. In his dream someone was trying to take Owen away from him. It was just the two of them and he was physically fighting this person to keep Owen. Chris wasn't bothered by much especially a dream. But this dream was different. He said it seemed so real.
I heard a cough. I heard a thud. A regular morning.
I wonder how long it took him to realize what was happening or if he was already gone from his body before the realization came. I wonder why I wasn't intended to save him but only to find him. In the same breath, I am thankful it was me.
What, then, is grief?
I remember on 9/11 feeling an overwhelming sense of grief. I couldn't figure out why it shook me so much. I felt heavy, slow, sad and on edge with my emotions. Strangers.
I think grief has felt different each of the past 29 days. Disbelief. Shock. Sadness. Terror. Nauseating.
Today it feels heavy. I have grown accustomed to the 'elephant on my chest' phenomenon. Today I managed to move more. I vacuumed and cleaned the wood floors on the main floor of my house. I washed a few windows, cleaned the TV off and disinfected a number of things trying to do away with this virus we have all had. Now it is silent. Maya and Grandma are at Target and Owen is asleep. I wonder if this is how quite the evenings will be once the dust has settled and we are 'on our own.' Quiet. I think I need to learn to meditate.
What's wrong?
This feels like a loaded question. My inner response, is 'duh'? But that's a little on the rude side. Of course, everyone around me knows what is wrong. But where do you begin to answer that question?
In his voice.
This morning I made a final phone call in regard to Chris. I had his cell phone turned off. It took 4 weeks and I know I paid for a whole month for a useless phone that even when he was here to use it, he did not. My hang up, I discovered yesterday, was his voice mail message. It was the only place I could hear him say his own name. I recorded it. Today I woke up and made the call.
Shhhhhhhhhhh.
Am I going to be the woman that hushes the room? Will I be the one who walks in to Maya's kindergarten classroom in two years to have other parents give me that 'knowing' look. Will they know what to say to me when they can't rant about normal life and husband issues? Will I know what to say or when to respond? Will they quiet when I mention my dead husband? Can I even call him that since legally our marriage ended on November 17, 2010?
Maybe this will be hard for you to read. Perhaps it will be too difficult for me to write. I guess as with many things in my life, time will tell.
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