"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers." M. Scott Peck
On the way to Costco, I felt it. By the time I walked through the bay doors of the warehouse and flashed the picture of me from 7 years ago, my heart was sinking, and the crowds were closing in, pulling at the strings of claustrophobia. I took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other.
I spent 15 minutes pacing aisles, looking at everything I didn't need to buy. In so many ways I was looking for what was causing my panic. My mind was searching for an answer among the towels, mixing bowls and step ladders. This is not the way I shop...I am a no nonsense person. However, without the kids, I was restless, anxious and overwhelmed.
I took another deep breath and looked down at my list that I suddenly realized was backwards and upside down. Instead of laughing, I looked at a half empty pallet of cereal and wondered if the man standing next to me would stop to see if I was ok if I sat down to collect my thoughts.
Costco. Why do so many things in my life return to Costco?
When I finally finished shopping, I ended up in the checkout line of a guy approximately my age who was syrupy sweet and chatty. As he handed back my card he said "Thank you miss, have a good day." My head swung around, my jaw dropped. I cannot remember the last time I was called miss...and really, I am not. I'm a 35 year old widow and at that moment I was suddenly pissed about being called miss.
Of course, lately, my F**k You attitude, really sucks. In January I was apologizing to everyone and now my attitude sucks. My problem? My life feels shrouded by death. Fewer people are understanding this reality and I have reached the point where my phone has become silent and the subject of my deceased husband has grown silent.
I loved him, I still love him and I will to my grave.
Now...how to figure out the rest of this life without him.
"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned the hard way that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, or end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s to happen next." Gilda Radner
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Just Breathe
I made it.
The days leading up to the 6 months anniversary were suffocatingly thick with grief so much so that it felt like the weeks following Chris' death.
But, as it always does, the grief shifted to an emotion that is much less debilitating. Thank God. I'm not sure who could live with that constant weight baring down on them.
Two days have passed and my life feels like what it 'was' ... all of the craziness included.
The days leading up to the 6 months anniversary were suffocatingly thick with grief so much so that it felt like the weeks following Chris' death.
But, as it always does, the grief shifted to an emotion that is much less debilitating. Thank God. I'm not sure who could live with that constant weight baring down on them.
Two days have passed and my life feels like what it 'was' ... all of the craziness included.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Six Months...two days early.
WTF?!?! Six months...
It was inevitable, unavoidable, unmistakable.
There are moments it feels like Chris died just days ago. I can feel the stubble on his face, the callouses on his hands, the softness of his lips on mine. Yet, there are unmistakable moments in which it all feels fuzzy like the remnants of a dream only partially remembered or the storyline of a book read long ago. Parts of my story are startlingly vivid yet disturbingly faded.
The conundrum is in the fact that I want to remember yet I find the pain caused from some of the memories excruciating.
The other day Lora pointed out the pictures we had taken last summer. When Chris died, they were still current. Now 9 months has elapsed since the photos were taken. While Maya has changed it is much more obvious in Owen who now looks like a little boy, not the baby he still was then, barely 1 years old. He was hardly talking and now he has so much to say, lots of opinions to assert and is holding his own with Maya who has taken on a bossy edge. The final photo taken of just Owen and Chris together was at the pumpkin patch almost a month before he died. It is startling to see in Owen how much time has passed.
I have been telling this story about a mom at preschool who asked about Chris. Her daughter started at Sunnyside after he died so I think she missed the memo on that one. While the girls were waiting to wash their hands she looked at Maya and comment on how tall she is then asked if "her father is tall." For a split second I wanted to tell her, no, he's only about 10 or so inches tall...get it? The box with your ashes. Ok, so some of you may not find that as amusing as I did. Of course, I didn't say that. I told her you were about 6 feet tall but that you had died almost 6 months ago. She apologized and offered her condolences. I hate putting people in that position. I know they just feel bad Chris is gone but I don't want them to feel bad for asking.
The kids and I had a play date with Trisha, Sarah and Amelia on Friday and while we were there Trish and I were talking about Tori's upcoming wedding. Trish commented that she had not been to a wedding in so long because all of her friends had long since been married. Neither of us caught it for a minute. I'm her friend. I'm no longer married. It's funny how, at moments, people forget I'm single...myself included. We both acknowledged that fact and it was a sort of funny moment.
Sunday we went to a birthday party for sweet Ellie. I can't believe she is two! It truly reminded me what a whirlwind the past two years have been thinking that two years ago I was giant with child. I had a conversation with an acquaintance who asked how we are. I probably offered to much detail about finding Chris, doing CPR but I suppose it was on my mind and waiting to spill out. Yesterday I moved the furniture in the bedroom back to almost what it was before he died. As I stood starring at the finished room, my mind returned to the thoughts which drove me to reconfigure the furniture...where was Chris' body for the three hours between the time they 'called it' and the moment his body was taken to the medical examiner's truck? It's the image I have of Chris lying on the floor, resuscitation tools still in place, lifeless, which makes me ache. It's the thought of his body being placed in the bag, picked up and carried...all 235 lbs... to a truck to be taken for an autopsy. It's the coldness of his skin under my hand, despite the warm shower water, as I attempted chest compressions and the signs that he was gone evident on his face. If this is too much, I apologize.
I drove home from the birthday party listening to random music. Breathe by Faith Hill came on. For a short time my Zumba instructor was using it as her cool down song. The words, " All my thoughts just seem to settle on the breeze, When I'm lying wrapped up in your arms, The whole world just fades away, The only thing I hear is the beating of your heart" brings tears to my eyes every time. I think I'm angry at his heart. It had so much love to give yet not enough strength to sustain him. I used to listen to Chris' heart as I rested my head on his chest. The silence in our lives left by his heart stopping is deafening.
I teared up all the way home. The kids ate a snack and I settled both into their own beds and cried. I even committed the sin of letting Maya sleep for two hours meaning she will be up very late tonight but I needed the break, the cry, the nap that ensued. Today is a weepy day.
I ache for the love that has been lost which leaves a gaping hole despite the time elapsed. I miss feeling loved, treasured, thought about. I am jealous of the relationships I see around me which I had not been previously. I long for the appreciation of someone. I miss having someone fill the space in my home. I long for adult dinner conversations instead of renditions of children's songs and the random insights of an inquisitive 4 year old paired with requests for an almost 2 year old to stay in his chair.
I wonder if these feelings will last the remainder of my days on this Earth. I question what happens in other widows lives to eventually fill these empty spaces which cause so much angst. I don't want to fill the space Chris left, I want to fill myself in a way which will allow me to feel whole again. I wonder if it's plausible that a single mother of two small children will feel rested, organized, appreciated, 'with it.'
Don't get me wrong. I don't spend the days feeling this dark and lonely. I'm pretty good at the fake it til you make it. I answer all the questions about how we are doing with the appropriate amount of detail and, in reality, I function in a capacity to fulfill my own personal obligations and needs as well as those of my children. I know my posts seem morose. In the days following Chris' death I did many searches of the Internet looking for connections to other young widows. In those days I came across the first of many widow blogs. After several readings I made a terrible judgment that this woman had not moved forward from her original grief. In reality I just wasn't seeing the big picture or valuing the amazing progress she has made on her personal journey. I came to realize that many of us blog when we feel the lowest or at the most pivotal points of our day, week, month, etc. In reality, it is reality and I have come to appreciate that. I suppose what I am trying to say is, really, I'm moving forward. It's writing about the heart ache which is helping me move forward and through this grief and continue my journey always attempting to make forward momentum.
For the past week I had been anticipating this wall I have finally hit. I was sure it was coming despite the fact I wasn't feeling it yet. I wasn't sure what would set it off. I am anticipating the next few days will be rough. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat which I haven't done since the weeks just after Chris' death.
Tuesday...9:30 a.m. Chris will have been gone for 6 months. 181 days...sort of odd to think the 'back side' of this first year will have 3 more days in it. I wasn't sure I would make it through the first 6 minutes..the first 6 hours...the first 6 days...the first 6 weeks and now, it has been 6 months. Today feels dark and heavy with grief. Despite this very long post, I have little to say out loud about it because, in the end, I've said it all many times...and right now it makes me cry.
I spend many moments thinking "What now?" Any sort of answer would be a relief.
It was inevitable, unavoidable, unmistakable.
There are moments it feels like Chris died just days ago. I can feel the stubble on his face, the callouses on his hands, the softness of his lips on mine. Yet, there are unmistakable moments in which it all feels fuzzy like the remnants of a dream only partially remembered or the storyline of a book read long ago. Parts of my story are startlingly vivid yet disturbingly faded.
The conundrum is in the fact that I want to remember yet I find the pain caused from some of the memories excruciating.
The other day Lora pointed out the pictures we had taken last summer. When Chris died, they were still current. Now 9 months has elapsed since the photos were taken. While Maya has changed it is much more obvious in Owen who now looks like a little boy, not the baby he still was then, barely 1 years old. He was hardly talking and now he has so much to say, lots of opinions to assert and is holding his own with Maya who has taken on a bossy edge. The final photo taken of just Owen and Chris together was at the pumpkin patch almost a month before he died. It is startling to see in Owen how much time has passed.
I have been telling this story about a mom at preschool who asked about Chris. Her daughter started at Sunnyside after he died so I think she missed the memo on that one. While the girls were waiting to wash their hands she looked at Maya and comment on how tall she is then asked if "her father is tall." For a split second I wanted to tell her, no, he's only about 10 or so inches tall...get it? The box with your ashes. Ok, so some of you may not find that as amusing as I did. Of course, I didn't say that. I told her you were about 6 feet tall but that you had died almost 6 months ago. She apologized and offered her condolences. I hate putting people in that position. I know they just feel bad Chris is gone but I don't want them to feel bad for asking.
The kids and I had a play date with Trisha, Sarah and Amelia on Friday and while we were there Trish and I were talking about Tori's upcoming wedding. Trish commented that she had not been to a wedding in so long because all of her friends had long since been married. Neither of us caught it for a minute. I'm her friend. I'm no longer married. It's funny how, at moments, people forget I'm single...myself included. We both acknowledged that fact and it was a sort of funny moment.
Sunday we went to a birthday party for sweet Ellie. I can't believe she is two! It truly reminded me what a whirlwind the past two years have been thinking that two years ago I was giant with child. I had a conversation with an acquaintance who asked how we are. I probably offered to much detail about finding Chris, doing CPR but I suppose it was on my mind and waiting to spill out. Yesterday I moved the furniture in the bedroom back to almost what it was before he died. As I stood starring at the finished room, my mind returned to the thoughts which drove me to reconfigure the furniture...where was Chris' body for the three hours between the time they 'called it' and the moment his body was taken to the medical examiner's truck? It's the image I have of Chris lying on the floor, resuscitation tools still in place, lifeless, which makes me ache. It's the thought of his body being placed in the bag, picked up and carried...all 235 lbs... to a truck to be taken for an autopsy. It's the coldness of his skin under my hand, despite the warm shower water, as I attempted chest compressions and the signs that he was gone evident on his face. If this is too much, I apologize.
I drove home from the birthday party listening to random music. Breathe by Faith Hill came on. For a short time my Zumba instructor was using it as her cool down song. The words, " All my thoughts just seem to settle on the breeze, When I'm lying wrapped up in your arms, The whole world just fades away, The only thing I hear is the beating of your heart" brings tears to my eyes every time. I think I'm angry at his heart. It had so much love to give yet not enough strength to sustain him. I used to listen to Chris' heart as I rested my head on his chest. The silence in our lives left by his heart stopping is deafening.
I teared up all the way home. The kids ate a snack and I settled both into their own beds and cried. I even committed the sin of letting Maya sleep for two hours meaning she will be up very late tonight but I needed the break, the cry, the nap that ensued. Today is a weepy day.
I ache for the love that has been lost which leaves a gaping hole despite the time elapsed. I miss feeling loved, treasured, thought about. I am jealous of the relationships I see around me which I had not been previously. I long for the appreciation of someone. I miss having someone fill the space in my home. I long for adult dinner conversations instead of renditions of children's songs and the random insights of an inquisitive 4 year old paired with requests for an almost 2 year old to stay in his chair.
I wonder if these feelings will last the remainder of my days on this Earth. I question what happens in other widows lives to eventually fill these empty spaces which cause so much angst. I don't want to fill the space Chris left, I want to fill myself in a way which will allow me to feel whole again. I wonder if it's plausible that a single mother of two small children will feel rested, organized, appreciated, 'with it.'
Don't get me wrong. I don't spend the days feeling this dark and lonely. I'm pretty good at the fake it til you make it. I answer all the questions about how we are doing with the appropriate amount of detail and, in reality, I function in a capacity to fulfill my own personal obligations and needs as well as those of my children. I know my posts seem morose. In the days following Chris' death I did many searches of the Internet looking for connections to other young widows. In those days I came across the first of many widow blogs. After several readings I made a terrible judgment that this woman had not moved forward from her original grief. In reality I just wasn't seeing the big picture or valuing the amazing progress she has made on her personal journey. I came to realize that many of us blog when we feel the lowest or at the most pivotal points of our day, week, month, etc. In reality, it is reality and I have come to appreciate that. I suppose what I am trying to say is, really, I'm moving forward. It's writing about the heart ache which is helping me move forward and through this grief and continue my journey always attempting to make forward momentum.
For the past week I had been anticipating this wall I have finally hit. I was sure it was coming despite the fact I wasn't feeling it yet. I wasn't sure what would set it off. I am anticipating the next few days will be rough. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat which I haven't done since the weeks just after Chris' death.
Tuesday...9:30 a.m. Chris will have been gone for 6 months. 181 days...sort of odd to think the 'back side' of this first year will have 3 more days in it. I wasn't sure I would make it through the first 6 minutes..the first 6 hours...the first 6 days...the first 6 weeks and now, it has been 6 months. Today feels dark and heavy with grief. Despite this very long post, I have little to say out loud about it because, in the end, I've said it all many times...and right now it makes me cry.
I spend many moments thinking "What now?" Any sort of answer would be a relief.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Secrets
I have been contemplating the confessions of a widow... My life seems strangely shrouded in secrecy yet blatantly open for criticism. Want to know my secrets?
I feed my kids quick, kid friendly food almost all the time now because cooking is a major chore now.
I'm flaky...I was absolutely NOT before. I don't always keep play dates or plans.
I miss 'that' part of my relationship.
I have only dusted once since Chris died...almost 6 months ago.
My stage of grief right now definitely entails anger. The other night at the height of frustration as I was alone in my house, I found myself asking "Where the hell are you Chris?" Fair? No. Reality? Absolutely!
I need lots of breaks from my kids. Maya's attitude with me vacillates between endearing and infuriating.
I feel enormous guilt about Chris' death as if there were a way to keep him here and I should have found it.
The rules for my kids are much more gray now. Sometimes telling Owen to get down off the TV stand for the 20th time is just too much...I ignore it.
I have much more attractive underwear now...
I am more self-conscious: physically, emotionally, socially...
I'm very concerned about losing relationships which causes me to emotionally check out from people. Sounds a bit like an excuse...
I'm not overspending but I'm also not keeping the tight reign on my budget I did before we dove into this lifestyle. Sometimes I find myself buying things with the thought that Chris didn't live long enough to enjoy all the things he wanted to...like the fish tank I just bought because we had been contemplating it before Chris died.
Most days I live by the motto "Fake it til you make it". If I can't fake it, I hide out at home.
Some days I think about Chris constantly...other rarely. On the rare days I feel enormous guilt when I fall asleep with this realization.
I'm starting to doubt there are many who can pin down who I am right now; myself included
I avoid mention of the words death, dead and dying to Maya because she is in a calm place right now in requests for Chris to return to us thus I don't want to ignite them.
Perhaps they are not dark secrets...but they are issues that weigh on my heart. Because of them I question myself, my decisions, my sanity. I worry about how I come across as a mother, a friend, a family member. I'm concerned not only about who I will come out of this being but also who my children will grow to be both because of their personal experience as well as my nurturing during all of this. My perspectives on life have changed immensely.
In the silence of the early morning I find myself longing for answers, looking for direction and simply hoping for the best.
I feed my kids quick, kid friendly food almost all the time now because cooking is a major chore now.
I'm flaky...I was absolutely NOT before. I don't always keep play dates or plans.
I miss 'that' part of my relationship.
I have only dusted once since Chris died...almost 6 months ago.
My stage of grief right now definitely entails anger. The other night at the height of frustration as I was alone in my house, I found myself asking "Where the hell are you Chris?" Fair? No. Reality? Absolutely!
I need lots of breaks from my kids. Maya's attitude with me vacillates between endearing and infuriating.
I feel enormous guilt about Chris' death as if there were a way to keep him here and I should have found it.
The rules for my kids are much more gray now. Sometimes telling Owen to get down off the TV stand for the 20th time is just too much...I ignore it.
I have much more attractive underwear now...
I am more self-conscious: physically, emotionally, socially...
I'm very concerned about losing relationships which causes me to emotionally check out from people. Sounds a bit like an excuse...
I'm not overspending but I'm also not keeping the tight reign on my budget I did before we dove into this lifestyle. Sometimes I find myself buying things with the thought that Chris didn't live long enough to enjoy all the things he wanted to...like the fish tank I just bought because we had been contemplating it before Chris died.
Most days I live by the motto "Fake it til you make it". If I can't fake it, I hide out at home.
Some days I think about Chris constantly...other rarely. On the rare days I feel enormous guilt when I fall asleep with this realization.
I'm starting to doubt there are many who can pin down who I am right now; myself included
I avoid mention of the words death, dead and dying to Maya because she is in a calm place right now in requests for Chris to return to us thus I don't want to ignite them.
Perhaps they are not dark secrets...but they are issues that weigh on my heart. Because of them I question myself, my decisions, my sanity. I worry about how I come across as a mother, a friend, a family member. I'm concerned not only about who I will come out of this being but also who my children will grow to be both because of their personal experience as well as my nurturing during all of this. My perspectives on life have changed immensely.
In the silence of the early morning I find myself longing for answers, looking for direction and simply hoping for the best.
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