I don't know how others do it...make it through these days.
Yesterday my head ached so badly that I convinced Maya to skip movie night at school to stay home and make cookies. The thought of a gym full of exuberant kids made me feel nauseous.
It was painful. It was grief. My body ached. I spent the day longing to lay in the cool sheets of my bed.
In the aftermath, two years ago, I forced every footstep, made my legs keep moving, willed my mind to keep going. It's hard for me to stop, to step back, to give myself true space when I need it.
It makes me feel weak.
I know it's just in my mind.
But I've arrived, feeling weak, raw, vulnerable. I hate it. It feels disorganized and difficult to complete grasp.
In this moment I secretly feel vaguely proud. Proud that I am doing it. Proud that I have moments of weakness. Proud that my feet keep moving and I keep doing my best. Proud of who I am and hopeful of who I will become.
Today I will relive it over and over. The sights, the smells, the sound. The conversations will float back to me. The phone calls. My dad. My sister in law. The 911 operator. The ones I overheard to my sister, my brother-in-law, my friends. And the ones I imagined, to Chris' best friend....
No I probably won't talk to anyone about it.
My mind is so full of thoughts yet so empty of structure. Writing is easy. Speaking, is impossible.
Two year ago my husband died. He was my friend, my chosen companion, the amazing father to our two precious children. He was one of the people I respected most in this world. He had experienced so much and brought extreme peace into my life. He was full of love, laughter, intelligence and had a wicked streak of goofiness.
In my mind I hear his voice. In my heart I feel his love. In my world I feel his influence, encouraging me to keep going, to keep evolving, to accept my faults and to hope for the future.
Rest in Peace Christopher Michael Carpenter.
I will remember, always, always always,
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
White Knuckling It
Two years. 730 days. 17520 hours.
These anniversaries become glass half full sorts of events. Ok, truthfully grief is an honest look at the empty glass with feeble attempts at seeing it half full.
Two years of head spinning, life changing events. Freeing and overwhelming all at the same time.
Two years of grasping at hope, holding on to faith and surreptitiously drinking in the love that surrounds me.
What's difficult about anniversaries like this is feeling in step, in sync with the last hours you had on this earth. In these moments I can feel you close. I sit looking up the stairs you walked up just minutes before you collapsed and see in you my minds eye as if it happened only moments before. I wonder if I quickly walk over if I will see your footprints imprinted on the carpet.
In these final hours I open the cupboard for a glass and the mug that you left, half full of coffee on the bathroom counter screams to me, begging me touch it as if it would still be warm from your touch.
I was annoyed you were taking so long in the shower.
I close the bathroom door and see your red Cougar Camp shirt and Addidas shorts in a pile and reach for them only to realize they have long since been packed away.
The dampness on the floor of the bathtub coating my socks as I leaned over you leave my feet cold. I can hear the water running, my sleeved soaked from reaching through to turn it off.
My heartbeat loud in my ears. The rapid breaths escaping my body. My hands on your chest, awkwardly pressing your body into the ground. My words to you sounding like a lifetime movie. Please don't leave your kids. They need you....
My heart willing Maya to stay in the living room despite my frantic phone call on speaker and Owen's cries watching my chaos, my counting... 39, 40, 41 and then the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.
But I see you and I know the truth. You weren't leaving, you were gone.
In my head it sounds unfamiliar, like someone else's story but I can feel it in my bones.
They ache. Grief isn't just sadness...tears, depression. It's the heavy down quilt, warm yet suffocating. Alternating feelings of nausea and despondency. Agony, anguish, desolation, despair. A sickly sweet wretchedness oozing, sticky, messy. Disorganized.
It's what I hate about grief the most. It's disorganized, unpredictable.
Now I yearn for you to know Maya and Owen. She was barely writing the letters for her name when you died and now she's reading books, doing math, writing sentences. Owen could speak only a handful of words and now he's "reading" me whole books he has memorized, counting to 30, spelling his name, making us all laugh. They ride bikes, roller skate, play elaborate make believe games and are always looking for warm arms to snuggle in.
There lives and enormous pressure in my heart driving me to remember everything. Your personality, your voice, your laughter, the way you moved through a room, how we were as a family. But its so much and I feel overwhelmed. The more I try to remember the more I feel slip from my hands.
I have not dreaded the days leading up to this anniversary though they have clouded my mind and engulfed my energy but am fearing the memories of the aftermath. With few exceptions those days are foggy and full of nothing more but attempting to continue moving, breathing, feeling.
It's with this I look around and wonder if you are here. I long for affirmation that you are fine. I search for signs that you are close. While others dream full, animated, colorful, lucid dreams, I wake up blank and are left with wonder about your final destination.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
on the calendar
There is so much to say and truly by not posting in order I will need to go back and fill in the beautiful details of my life but as the inkling creeps up, pushing me to blog it usually is about the stress. Don't get me wrong, my life is filled with so much beauty. Unfortunately beauty and peace don't require cathartic writing to process fully. They just are because they are beautiful. It's the ugly, uncomfortable feelings that I need out into the abyss of written words to completely analyze, turn over and process.
For the past two weeks, the monster has been there...the two thousand pound elephant trying to remain invisible in the room. Really I feel like he just sort of follows me. As we started a new school year there were so many people I feel I needed to "let in" on our family as well as ones I felt the need to warn. Not every parent is ready to have their child come home asking about death.
I opened my calendar a few weeks ago to put my niece's birthday party down and took a deep breath, then realized I was taking a deep breath.
My calendar is very different now...it's electronic and not just the free WPZ calendar hanging in my kitchen. It contains pick ups and drop offs for Riley. It documents days of kindergarten and preschool and social security deposits. All things foreign two years ago.
The words...Sarah's birthday. Pumpkin Patch. Halloween. Charissa's Birthday. Thanksgiving. dot my calendar in an unintentionally suffocating manner. With them I have memories like a slide show float through my mind. For moments I remember the days leading up to it.
I'm a believer in signs. If you read my blog in "the beginning", you know I was looking for them behind every door, in ever dark corner and really felt quite empty handed. It took a few months for me to decide my signs were much more simple.
I left the pumpkin patch today, soaking wet, driving to our next stop and saw a beautiful rainbow. The colors so vivid. Just as I thought we would catch it, that the pot of Gold would be in the field next to us, it would move. But in this rainbow I found a moment of peace, a feeling of hope, a hand of comfort telling me that life is as it should be and that despite it all, my heart can rest. Telling me that even though he is gone, illusive, just out of reach, he is always there watching over us.
My signs have never been big. I haven't had dreams so vivid I woke thinking they were real. I rely on smaller signs. The week Chris died he told me about this song he heard on the radio that he wanted to put on his IPod by Kings of Leon. When I catch a chord of that song, I say Hi. Coincidences? Probably but in my psychological schema I use them to find peace, to make a connection to my grief and to smile.
As I watched Maya and Owen at the pumpkin patch today I couldn't help but catch my breath at how much they have grown. This past week I ran across a copy of Chris' obituary in the filing cabinet and sat down to read it. It's sad... are there more eloquent words to say that? What struck me most were the words about the bond between Chris and Maya. It makes me wonder if she would be a different kid if she still had that. Obvious things would be different but I look at her anxieties and sigh...and wonder, why my babies? Really, my connection to them is crazy... Since Chris died, every time I look at them across the room, cuddle in bed or simple touch their cheeks, an electricity bursts inside of me and I feel toward them something I had not felt ever. My bond to them carries me through and pushes me to do more, be more and become more than I had ever imagined..
For the past two weeks, the monster has been there...the two thousand pound elephant trying to remain invisible in the room. Really I feel like he just sort of follows me. As we started a new school year there were so many people I feel I needed to "let in" on our family as well as ones I felt the need to warn. Not every parent is ready to have their child come home asking about death.
I opened my calendar a few weeks ago to put my niece's birthday party down and took a deep breath, then realized I was taking a deep breath.
My calendar is very different now...it's electronic and not just the free WPZ calendar hanging in my kitchen. It contains pick ups and drop offs for Riley. It documents days of kindergarten and preschool and social security deposits. All things foreign two years ago.
The words...Sarah's birthday. Pumpkin Patch. Halloween. Charissa's Birthday. Thanksgiving. dot my calendar in an unintentionally suffocating manner. With them I have memories like a slide show float through my mind. For moments I remember the days leading up to it.
I'm a believer in signs. If you read my blog in "the beginning", you know I was looking for them behind every door, in ever dark corner and really felt quite empty handed. It took a few months for me to decide my signs were much more simple.
I left the pumpkin patch today, soaking wet, driving to our next stop and saw a beautiful rainbow. The colors so vivid. Just as I thought we would catch it, that the pot of Gold would be in the field next to us, it would move. But in this rainbow I found a moment of peace, a feeling of hope, a hand of comfort telling me that life is as it should be and that despite it all, my heart can rest. Telling me that even though he is gone, illusive, just out of reach, he is always there watching over us.
My signs have never been big. I haven't had dreams so vivid I woke thinking they were real. I rely on smaller signs. The week Chris died he told me about this song he heard on the radio that he wanted to put on his IPod by Kings of Leon. When I catch a chord of that song, I say Hi. Coincidences? Probably but in my psychological schema I use them to find peace, to make a connection to my grief and to smile.
As I watched Maya and Owen at the pumpkin patch today I couldn't help but catch my breath at how much they have grown. This past week I ran across a copy of Chris' obituary in the filing cabinet and sat down to read it. It's sad... are there more eloquent words to say that? What struck me most were the words about the bond between Chris and Maya. It makes me wonder if she would be a different kid if she still had that. Obvious things would be different but I look at her anxieties and sigh...and wonder, why my babies? Really, my connection to them is crazy... Since Chris died, every time I look at them across the room, cuddle in bed or simple touch their cheeks, an electricity bursts inside of me and I feel toward them something I had not felt ever. My bond to them carries me through and pushes me to do more, be more and become more than I had ever imagined..
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Birthdays
This has been a crazy few weeks.
Three birthdays in 6 days....Owen, Riley then Shaun.
Three "home" parties and one bounce house combined party for the littles.
I was partied out.
Birthdays are such a milestone for me. I feel like I have accomplished something with every birthday I celebrate for one of my children. It entails loads of memories. Pregnancy, labor, birthing, sleepy newborn days. It's the realization of how much my children have grown.
It's the pain of realizing how much time has passed. Owen has aged 20 months since Chris died. His vocabulary has grown by thousands of words. Though it's far off, in February he will be the age Maya was when Chris died. I have no idea how I will feel then, but I look at him and realize how young Maya truly was.
Owen is such an incredible little boy. He is truly funny, and he knows it. He makes faces Chris did and I wonder how he knows how to make them. Where does he see them...
There is a fourth birthday in all of this.
Chris' 36th birthday is August 11th. We will be camping with friend's that weekend. I told myself THAT would be the day we would celebrate Chris. But then there is the question of how. I wanted to do the floating lanterns, like Rapunzel BUT I'm thinking it's a bad, bad idea in Eastern Wa. I'm thinking it will be a balloon release. Maybe we will write messages to put on or in the balloons.
And then I have a "poor me" moment and wish this wasn't the reality for my kids and me. What did we do...
But truly, even I know in those moments that the universe doesn't work that way. It just is. It's life. It moves like a river and it's just a matter of accepting that and learning how to master its flow.
Three birthdays in 6 days....Owen, Riley then Shaun.
Three "home" parties and one bounce house combined party for the littles.
I was partied out.
Birthdays are such a milestone for me. I feel like I have accomplished something with every birthday I celebrate for one of my children. It entails loads of memories. Pregnancy, labor, birthing, sleepy newborn days. It's the realization of how much my children have grown.
It's the pain of realizing how much time has passed. Owen has aged 20 months since Chris died. His vocabulary has grown by thousands of words. Though it's far off, in February he will be the age Maya was when Chris died. I have no idea how I will feel then, but I look at him and realize how young Maya truly was.
Owen is such an incredible little boy. He is truly funny, and he knows it. He makes faces Chris did and I wonder how he knows how to make them. Where does he see them...
There is a fourth birthday in all of this.
Chris' 36th birthday is August 11th. We will be camping with friend's that weekend. I told myself THAT would be the day we would celebrate Chris. But then there is the question of how. I wanted to do the floating lanterns, like Rapunzel BUT I'm thinking it's a bad, bad idea in Eastern Wa. I'm thinking it will be a balloon release. Maybe we will write messages to put on or in the balloons.
And then I have a "poor me" moment and wish this wasn't the reality for my kids and me. What did we do...
But truly, even I know in those moments that the universe doesn't work that way. It just is. It's life. It moves like a river and it's just a matter of accepting that and learning how to master its flow.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
In Search
Reading another widow's blog, I have realized what I have been trying to put into words yet could not so eloquently find the words in my soul to put it all together.
http://widowsvoice-sslf.blogspot.com/2012/05/language-of-grief.html
She went spiraling into the world of widowhood a week before I made my grand entrance onto the red carpet.
The essence, it's emotionally dividing to talk about grief and joy in the same life. You struggle to not want to disgrace and water down the love and joy you had. Everything is tainted by the glasses of death and loss yet you have a drive to live, to love, to have joy and fulfillment...connection. And, truly our loved ones on the other side want that.
By the way, SSLF (Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation), the source through which this particular blog was posted, is absolutely fantastic!!
http://www.sslf.org/
I didn't do much more than blog stalk this site at first...but eventually I emailed a few widows, commented on their blogs, asked them questions.
And I felt normal.
It's a great venue for finding help, finding insight and finding resources. If you know a widow...send this link along!! After Chris died, I found out there are wonderful resources for widows...if you are older or military. The only community I found of younger widows...stay at home moms, moms with younger kids was online.
Last night I watched a news story about a club for tall people... everyone should have a place where they can define themselves by something other than the thing which seems to overwhelmingly define them.
Widowhood is my badge. It's my journey. It's my story.
http://widowsvoice-sslf.blogspot.com/2012/05/language-of-grief.html
She went spiraling into the world of widowhood a week before I made my grand entrance onto the red carpet.
The essence, it's emotionally dividing to talk about grief and joy in the same life. You struggle to not want to disgrace and water down the love and joy you had. Everything is tainted by the glasses of death and loss yet you have a drive to live, to love, to have joy and fulfillment...connection. And, truly our loved ones on the other side want that.
By the way, SSLF (Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation), the source through which this particular blog was posted, is absolutely fantastic!!
http://www.sslf.org/
I didn't do much more than blog stalk this site at first...but eventually I emailed a few widows, commented on their blogs, asked them questions.
And I felt normal.
It's a great venue for finding help, finding insight and finding resources. If you know a widow...send this link along!! After Chris died, I found out there are wonderful resources for widows...if you are older or military. The only community I found of younger widows...stay at home moms, moms with younger kids was online.
Last night I watched a news story about a club for tall people... everyone should have a place where they can define themselves by something other than the thing which seems to overwhelmingly define them.
Widowhood is my badge. It's my journey. It's my story.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Surround Yourself With Love
Literally.
Yesterday was spent attempting to finish up photo books for the kids about their daddy. I have pictures spanning his lifetime and captions about the events and places. I want something physical to be left should I not be there to tell them. They are simply snippets and perhaps for me it's for my peace of mind but I wanted each to have their own copy to look at, remember and refer to. It's a project I started a week after Chris died and have tried to tackle several times without success. The task was too heavy, the pictures in mass a painful hole in my heart.
Alone in the house yesterday I was going to get a hold on the cleaning and instead thought, today is it. I'm doing it. Ha! Only ha because it took 90 minutes to comb through a box to find a specific picture only to discover it wasn't there. Despite this set back I finished finding pictures, uploaded them and worked furiously on the book. It's still not complete, but I'm working!!
At one point I had to stop to get Maya from preschool. On the way home we chatted about school and I told her about the book I was making. On the way in I grabbed two giant stacks of pictures which we had set aside for the slide show at Chris' memorial and Maya asked to see them. She sat on the living room floor and took out the first stack while I ran upstairs.
Walking back into the living room, my breath caught and my eyes filled with salty tears as I reminded myself to breathe.
There she was, diligently going about her labor of love. My gut response was to put them away, but really, this is her love, her journey and though painful for me, it was so sweet and so innocent.
Maya went through pictures and talked about ones she remembered, asked about others she did not all the while surrounding herself with the memories of a world that seems so far removed.
At one point I asked if she would like to make any drawings to include in our book project of memories she had. She sadly put her chin down and said "I don't remember much." I've never heard her say this and sadly, I know it's true. I do know, however, that once we start talking, memories return about events and places we have been and relief sets in.
Maya spent the next 3 hours drawing pictures then continued for another after dinner and returned to it again this morning. They started with just her and daddy, went on to a camping trip we took the summer before he died and then they evolved to this alternate world where Riley knows daddy or Pickachu goes shopping with daddy.
There it is, this other universe in which Chris exists and in which memories are blurred with reality. {sigh}
Yesterday was spent attempting to finish up photo books for the kids about their daddy. I have pictures spanning his lifetime and captions about the events and places. I want something physical to be left should I not be there to tell them. They are simply snippets and perhaps for me it's for my peace of mind but I wanted each to have their own copy to look at, remember and refer to. It's a project I started a week after Chris died and have tried to tackle several times without success. The task was too heavy, the pictures in mass a painful hole in my heart.
Alone in the house yesterday I was going to get a hold on the cleaning and instead thought, today is it. I'm doing it. Ha! Only ha because it took 90 minutes to comb through a box to find a specific picture only to discover it wasn't there. Despite this set back I finished finding pictures, uploaded them and worked furiously on the book. It's still not complete, but I'm working!!
At one point I had to stop to get Maya from preschool. On the way home we chatted about school and I told her about the book I was making. On the way in I grabbed two giant stacks of pictures which we had set aside for the slide show at Chris' memorial and Maya asked to see them. She sat on the living room floor and took out the first stack while I ran upstairs.
Walking back into the living room, my breath caught and my eyes filled with salty tears as I reminded myself to breathe.
There she was, diligently going about her labor of love. My gut response was to put them away, but really, this is her love, her journey and though painful for me, it was so sweet and so innocent.
Maya went through pictures and talked about ones she remembered, asked about others she did not all the while surrounding herself with the memories of a world that seems so far removed.
At one point I asked if she would like to make any drawings to include in our book project of memories she had. She sadly put her chin down and said "I don't remember much." I've never heard her say this and sadly, I know it's true. I do know, however, that once we start talking, memories return about events and places we have been and relief sets in.
Maya spent the next 3 hours drawing pictures then continued for another after dinner and returned to it again this morning. They started with just her and daddy, went on to a camping trip we took the summer before he died and then they evolved to this alternate world where Riley knows daddy or Pickachu goes shopping with daddy.
There it is, this other universe in which Chris exists and in which memories are blurred with reality. {sigh}
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Good Reads
Today has been occupied by trying to kick this stuff clogging my head and the nighttime cold meds I took last night which make me feel like I'm seriously drugged up. On top of that, I was perusing Good Reads and general book club websites for a book; it's my month to choose and holy cow, there is pressure!!
I digress...
I have been on and off Good Reads but really simply forget to enter books in...though really I thought I had so maybe I have multiple accounts? Hmmmpf....
As I stopped onto Good Reads I decided to enter a couple recent books in and one was Good Grief by Lolly Winston. I rated it and wrote a review then scrolled down to check out other reviews. Lots of excellent reviews and then the words "As a widow" caught my eye. Red flag, red flag, Sabrina. Stop reading.
The woman talked about the impossibility of the woman doing so well at the end of the first year and at the closing of the novel.
I rolled my eyes and then caught myself.
Yes, it was impossible for this reviewer to be in the position to feel as though she was doing "that well at the end of the first year" because this journey, as is life's journey, a personal, individually paced journey. My thought is, open your heart and your mind to the possibility. I understand so many view relationships within the first year of a spouse's death as disrespectful to the deceased and irresponsible of the widow or widower. I wondered if Chris would feel disrespected by my attempt to gage my journey as well as my ability to feel a connection to another person, truly I know he would not. So much prayer and self contemplation went in to these steps. So much.....
We all have our own pace in life. Relationships begun in the first year have many caverns and shadows to explore. They require patience, understanding, love, and recognition. The deceased will always have a place in the family. They will always be a parent to the children and the love they had and their place in the family is imperative to remember. I'm not sure, however, if it is exclusive to first year relationships; I believe it is significant to all widow relationships. I suppose I believe care must be taken in a fast paced relationship, as well as in a slow paced journey of self discovery after a spouse's death. Either journey has it's joys as well as it's caverns.
I'm always bothered by these proclamations because truly, I would never do anything to disrespect Chris, our life, his memory or the lives of his children.
Perhaps she couldn't imagine it, but I can and I love this truth.
I digress...
I have been on and off Good Reads but really simply forget to enter books in...though really I thought I had so maybe I have multiple accounts? Hmmmpf....
As I stopped onto Good Reads I decided to enter a couple recent books in and one was Good Grief by Lolly Winston. I rated it and wrote a review then scrolled down to check out other reviews. Lots of excellent reviews and then the words "As a widow" caught my eye. Red flag, red flag, Sabrina. Stop reading.
The woman talked about the impossibility of the woman doing so well at the end of the first year and at the closing of the novel.
I rolled my eyes and then caught myself.
Yes, it was impossible for this reviewer to be in the position to feel as though she was doing "that well at the end of the first year" because this journey, as is life's journey, a personal, individually paced journey. My thought is, open your heart and your mind to the possibility. I understand so many view relationships within the first year of a spouse's death as disrespectful to the deceased and irresponsible of the widow or widower. I wondered if Chris would feel disrespected by my attempt to gage my journey as well as my ability to feel a connection to another person, truly I know he would not. So much prayer and self contemplation went in to these steps. So much.....
We all have our own pace in life. Relationships begun in the first year have many caverns and shadows to explore. They require patience, understanding, love, and recognition. The deceased will always have a place in the family. They will always be a parent to the children and the love they had and their place in the family is imperative to remember. I'm not sure, however, if it is exclusive to first year relationships; I believe it is significant to all widow relationships. I suppose I believe care must be taken in a fast paced relationship, as well as in a slow paced journey of self discovery after a spouse's death. Either journey has it's joys as well as it's caverns.
I'm always bothered by these proclamations because truly, I would never do anything to disrespect Chris, our life, his memory or the lives of his children.
Perhaps she couldn't imagine it, but I can and I love this truth.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
The House
The day Chris died it was a cocoon, a productive cover of wood which made me both claustrophobic and comforted.
To this home I brought both of my babies home to our family. I had dreams and hopes. Made memories, too many to hold on to. Felt confident that this home would be the setting of so many memories, the foundation of my family.
In the course of a single hour this house became a shadow of what I thought it would be.
It's been difficult to say and few have heard me address the issue because of the emotional gravity of the topic.
I was supposed to make a plethora of happy memories here. I was supposed to one day come to the conclusion we had outgrown the home and needed to move on. I was supposed to look over the house with a tear in my eye, remembering the happy and looking forward to the future.
I need out.
This house and all it held for me now feels like it holds me hostage. I love this house but it haunts me.
Tonight I crouched to help Owen potty while half asleep and glanced into the shower to envision Chris and for a moment I wondered what his last moment was like and recalled yelling at him to not leave his children, his head rested on the corner of the bathtub.
I wander the house, the yard and recall amazing memories. The bathroom haunts me. I refused to allow myself to avoid the space. I used it that day. It took a few weeks to shower there but I did. I spent hours remodeling the room in order to reclaim the space. Reclaiming the space did not allow me to reclaim the space in my psyche.
I find myself replaying the events moment by moment as I shampoo my hair. I tell myself to stop, it's morbid, it's painful, it's unproductive. I force myself to remember happy. I force myself to remember that Chris would have hated that he died in that way...that he died at all. As I run my brush through my hair with the hot air blowing, I recall his clothes still behind the door, the laundry basket filled with work clothes, standing in the bathtub fully clothed the day after Chris' death trying to remember what had happened the day before, hearing the operator tell me to pull all 240lbs wet lbs of Chris out of the tub and looking incredulously at the phone.
We've been talking about moving. We won't until fall, should we be able to figure out how to pull it all together. Like dominos so many things need to come together. One of them is getting married. I would rather sell this house but I am upside down in the loan and paying to get out would take up too much of the savings and selling it as a short sale wouldn't allow me to be on a new loan which we need in order to get out of this house.
I sat on the deck tonight enjoying the light breeze, excited about the work we have been putting into the back yard. We've removed the back deck cover I have hated since I set foot in this house. I love it!! There is finally a breeze on the deck and through the back door. The large garden has been weeded, matted and barked. It looks fabulous! I love the yard. My kids love the yard. Can I just live in the yard? Nobody died in the yard.
At first I was determined to gut it out. I could do it. I wouldn't show weakness. I was going to reclaim it. I've come to realize no amount of reclaiming, writing, blogging, talking will reclaim the venue of the greatest tragedy of my life.
So what to do?
I need out. The replay of events is running my brain ragged.
To this home I brought both of my babies home to our family. I had dreams and hopes. Made memories, too many to hold on to. Felt confident that this home would be the setting of so many memories, the foundation of my family.
In the course of a single hour this house became a shadow of what I thought it would be.
It's been difficult to say and few have heard me address the issue because of the emotional gravity of the topic.
I was supposed to make a plethora of happy memories here. I was supposed to one day come to the conclusion we had outgrown the home and needed to move on. I was supposed to look over the house with a tear in my eye, remembering the happy and looking forward to the future.
I need out.
This house and all it held for me now feels like it holds me hostage. I love this house but it haunts me.
Tonight I crouched to help Owen potty while half asleep and glanced into the shower to envision Chris and for a moment I wondered what his last moment was like and recalled yelling at him to not leave his children, his head rested on the corner of the bathtub.
I wander the house, the yard and recall amazing memories. The bathroom haunts me. I refused to allow myself to avoid the space. I used it that day. It took a few weeks to shower there but I did. I spent hours remodeling the room in order to reclaim the space. Reclaiming the space did not allow me to reclaim the space in my psyche.
I find myself replaying the events moment by moment as I shampoo my hair. I tell myself to stop, it's morbid, it's painful, it's unproductive. I force myself to remember happy. I force myself to remember that Chris would have hated that he died in that way...that he died at all. As I run my brush through my hair with the hot air blowing, I recall his clothes still behind the door, the laundry basket filled with work clothes, standing in the bathtub fully clothed the day after Chris' death trying to remember what had happened the day before, hearing the operator tell me to pull all 240lbs wet lbs of Chris out of the tub and looking incredulously at the phone.
We've been talking about moving. We won't until fall, should we be able to figure out how to pull it all together. Like dominos so many things need to come together. One of them is getting married. I would rather sell this house but I am upside down in the loan and paying to get out would take up too much of the savings and selling it as a short sale wouldn't allow me to be on a new loan which we need in order to get out of this house.
I sat on the deck tonight enjoying the light breeze, excited about the work we have been putting into the back yard. We've removed the back deck cover I have hated since I set foot in this house. I love it!! There is finally a breeze on the deck and through the back door. The large garden has been weeded, matted and barked. It looks fabulous! I love the yard. My kids love the yard. Can I just live in the yard? Nobody died in the yard.
At first I was determined to gut it out. I could do it. I wouldn't show weakness. I was going to reclaim it. I've come to realize no amount of reclaiming, writing, blogging, talking will reclaim the venue of the greatest tragedy of my life.
So what to do?
I need out. The replay of events is running my brain ragged.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Dream Interpretation
Yet again I had a dream a few nights ago about Chris yet not about Chris.
My dream begins suddenly in a one bedroom apartment. I spin slowly in a circle, taking in every inch. The kitchen filled with cups and plates and boxes of food; the dining room table set with place mats, glasses, plates, silverware; the living room's walls lined with tall white shelves filled with books, boxes, knick knacks.
In my dream I knew it was Chris' apartment though it was like no apartment I have ever seen.
I wander from the living room into the bedroom where the tall shelves continue and a large desk containing a desk top computer is filled with papers and more books and file folders.
I reach up to open a desk cupboard to reveal full shelves of crafting items (ok you can laugh, Chris DID NOT craft so I'm not sure what this was about). But, I reach up to touch bottles of glue and tubes of glitter.
In my dream I know Chris is dead yet I don't really question why he lives in this apartment nor do I wonder about our kids. In an odd addition I am accompanied in the apartment by two girls whom I know are my friends but resemble no real life person I am familiar with.
I woke up thinking, huh??
The back story: I had just started a book called Good Grief by Lolly Winston. The main character is a widow who has no children and whose husband had died after a battle with cancer and she is a hot mess.
I finished this book last night and loved, loved, loved it. It's a book about a woman like me trying to hold her crap together yet realizing she just might not be able to. Read this book...seriously. It will be insightful to know this world so intimately either for yourself or for a friend. If you have not been personally touched by my journey, I guarantee you will be touched by that of another. Lolly Winston brings Sophia, the widow, to life. Her pain and laughter were mine. Sophia feels like a member of my widow community, another of whom I can say I don't know in person yet I know because I can feel her journey in the beating of my heart.
The back story to my back story. When Chris died I combed through his belongings...his drawers, his clothing, his notebooks, his books, his van... I wanted to find something, anything to prove he had been there, he was real and he was still present. The reality was that Chris was an extreme minimalist. I could hardly find a scrap of paper with his writing on it. I felt like he disappeared and all that was left was a closet of clothes, walls filled with pictures and a toothbrush. I would cry big heaving sobs, asking out loud, "Where the fuck are you Chris?" It was like he vanished in a puff of smoke in a magic act. An illusion. Only it was real.
This dream was me remembering the pain of reaching and longing for that.
It's at moments like this I realize how evident and close the pain and sadness of the loss truly is. I still look around and wonder to myself where he went. To dust he returned.
Last night I sat watching Owen eating popcorn and watching a movie dressed in his pajamas and Lightening McQueen slippers and I marveled at who he is becoming. He has become a major indicator of how much time has passed. When Chris died Owen was one day short of 16 months old. On Thursday 18 months will have passed since Chris last glanced at Owen as he walked up the stairs to shower. Owen's life has more than doubled in time. And then I realize all that Chris has missed.....
My dream begins suddenly in a one bedroom apartment. I spin slowly in a circle, taking in every inch. The kitchen filled with cups and plates and boxes of food; the dining room table set with place mats, glasses, plates, silverware; the living room's walls lined with tall white shelves filled with books, boxes, knick knacks.
In my dream I knew it was Chris' apartment though it was like no apartment I have ever seen.
I wander from the living room into the bedroom where the tall shelves continue and a large desk containing a desk top computer is filled with papers and more books and file folders.
I reach up to open a desk cupboard to reveal full shelves of crafting items (ok you can laugh, Chris DID NOT craft so I'm not sure what this was about). But, I reach up to touch bottles of glue and tubes of glitter.
In my dream I know Chris is dead yet I don't really question why he lives in this apartment nor do I wonder about our kids. In an odd addition I am accompanied in the apartment by two girls whom I know are my friends but resemble no real life person I am familiar with.
I woke up thinking, huh??
The back story: I had just started a book called Good Grief by Lolly Winston. The main character is a widow who has no children and whose husband had died after a battle with cancer and she is a hot mess.
I finished this book last night and loved, loved, loved it. It's a book about a woman like me trying to hold her crap together yet realizing she just might not be able to. Read this book...seriously. It will be insightful to know this world so intimately either for yourself or for a friend. If you have not been personally touched by my journey, I guarantee you will be touched by that of another. Lolly Winston brings Sophia, the widow, to life. Her pain and laughter were mine. Sophia feels like a member of my widow community, another of whom I can say I don't know in person yet I know because I can feel her journey in the beating of my heart.
The back story to my back story. When Chris died I combed through his belongings...his drawers, his clothing, his notebooks, his books, his van... I wanted to find something, anything to prove he had been there, he was real and he was still present. The reality was that Chris was an extreme minimalist. I could hardly find a scrap of paper with his writing on it. I felt like he disappeared and all that was left was a closet of clothes, walls filled with pictures and a toothbrush. I would cry big heaving sobs, asking out loud, "Where the fuck are you Chris?" It was like he vanished in a puff of smoke in a magic act. An illusion. Only it was real.
This dream was me remembering the pain of reaching and longing for that.
It's at moments like this I realize how evident and close the pain and sadness of the loss truly is. I still look around and wonder to myself where he went. To dust he returned.
Last night I sat watching Owen eating popcorn and watching a movie dressed in his pajamas and Lightening McQueen slippers and I marveled at who he is becoming. He has become a major indicator of how much time has passed. When Chris died Owen was one day short of 16 months old. On Thursday 18 months will have passed since Chris last glanced at Owen as he walked up the stairs to shower. Owen's life has more than doubled in time. And then I realize all that Chris has missed.....
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
The journey
Widowhood has caused me to become easily impacted by the feelings and opinions of others.
It started in the fog of the early days. I couldn't make a decision or think a process all the way through. A month after Chris' death I could hardly find my way all the way through making dinner. I longed for the ability to perform normal, ever day mundane tasks without feeling physically and mentally overwhelmed by the complexity of things such as the vacuum.
So many people are impacted by death in vastly different ways. The unfortunate yet fortunate nature of grief is that we all experience it differently thus trying to comprehend another on their journey is difficult.
I've spent much time examining my life, my decisions, my children, my ability to love.
I've spent much time defending my life, my decisions, my children, my ability to love.
It's my impression that it's difficult to understand my ability to move forward, to put one foot in front of the other, to find grief in the midst of all the pain. It's difficult to build love in the midst of pain. It was incomprehensible when I realized perhaps I had found love. I didn't understand how that could be. Making a connection so deeply with a stranger always feels unlikely, impossible.
Love finds us in different ways.
Chris was a long sought after love. I had searched for him and given up, until one day...he was there.
Shaun is a love who fell into my life in an unexpected fashion...and there he was filled with love for me in my imperfect state, for my pain and its longevity, for my children and for my journey in all of its complexities.
When all is said and done, nobody has the true ability understand another's journey but we have the ability to respect it.
I'm tired of defending mine.
It started in the fog of the early days. I couldn't make a decision or think a process all the way through. A month after Chris' death I could hardly find my way all the way through making dinner. I longed for the ability to perform normal, ever day mundane tasks without feeling physically and mentally overwhelmed by the complexity of things such as the vacuum.
So many people are impacted by death in vastly different ways. The unfortunate yet fortunate nature of grief is that we all experience it differently thus trying to comprehend another on their journey is difficult.
I've spent much time examining my life, my decisions, my children, my ability to love.
I've spent much time defending my life, my decisions, my children, my ability to love.
It's my impression that it's difficult to understand my ability to move forward, to put one foot in front of the other, to find grief in the midst of all the pain. It's difficult to build love in the midst of pain. It was incomprehensible when I realized perhaps I had found love. I didn't understand how that could be. Making a connection so deeply with a stranger always feels unlikely, impossible.
Love finds us in different ways.
Chris was a long sought after love. I had searched for him and given up, until one day...he was there.
Shaun is a love who fell into my life in an unexpected fashion...and there he was filled with love for me in my imperfect state, for my pain and its longevity, for my children and for my journey in all of its complexities.
When all is said and done, nobody has the true ability understand another's journey but we have the ability to respect it.
I'm tired of defending mine.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Love and Admiration
Saturday night was rough.
Shaun was at drill for the weekend and out in the hills of Yakima cell reception is scarce. The lonely days of single parenting catch up to me quickly.
I had these pangs. I miss Chris.
I am not sure what started it. Maybe an email I had been thinking about for over a week. I knew what his response would be to it. Truly I should have "listened" to him. I didn't, but that's another issue.
I sat that night thinking about Jeremiah.
Last Monday I brought Owen to Maya's swim lesson which I don't often do since he wants to swim so badly, I feel like it's cruel. Owen spotted his uncle sitting around the corner and off he went to see him. I'm not sure what exactly causes the tears to well up when I see the two of them together...maybe it's the similarities the brothers have, maybe it's that this is the closest biological connection Owen has to his dad, maybe it's the pain I see in Jer's eyes.
Saturday night I thought about how much Chris loved and admired Jer. He was his friend and his brother. I've never known how to convey this but I have a feeling of urgency about it.
The second year, almost half way through. Some things are difficult to face...
I was looking through pictures with Maya and saw a picture I took of Chris' van the day his coworkers came to get it. I can hardly remember it being in our driveway or the way it sounded when he back it in.
Yet, every morning as I shower the scene replays in my mind as if it just happened. It's the cruel aspect of a traumatic experience. At times it overwhelms the happier moments to make itself known in very ugly ways.
Moving forward there is so much happiness and love yet the pain is excruciating. There is so much to communicate, talk through, overthink ... and sometimes it just isn't as reality driven as you think. But it's life as I know it.
Shaun and I talk frequently about the complications our life entails, there are so many aspects to wrap our heads around and three little people on three different paths because of two separate events that need the guidance and love of so many.
At the end of the day, I look into their faces and see the reality of it all. They love and are being loved fiercely and truly love is what makes this ride worthwhile.
Shaun was at drill for the weekend and out in the hills of Yakima cell reception is scarce. The lonely days of single parenting catch up to me quickly.
I had these pangs. I miss Chris.
I am not sure what started it. Maybe an email I had been thinking about for over a week. I knew what his response would be to it. Truly I should have "listened" to him. I didn't, but that's another issue.
I sat that night thinking about Jeremiah.
Last Monday I brought Owen to Maya's swim lesson which I don't often do since he wants to swim so badly, I feel like it's cruel. Owen spotted his uncle sitting around the corner and off he went to see him. I'm not sure what exactly causes the tears to well up when I see the two of them together...maybe it's the similarities the brothers have, maybe it's that this is the closest biological connection Owen has to his dad, maybe it's the pain I see in Jer's eyes.
Saturday night I thought about how much Chris loved and admired Jer. He was his friend and his brother. I've never known how to convey this but I have a feeling of urgency about it.
The second year, almost half way through. Some things are difficult to face...
I was looking through pictures with Maya and saw a picture I took of Chris' van the day his coworkers came to get it. I can hardly remember it being in our driveway or the way it sounded when he back it in.
Yet, every morning as I shower the scene replays in my mind as if it just happened. It's the cruel aspect of a traumatic experience. At times it overwhelms the happier moments to make itself known in very ugly ways.
Moving forward there is so much happiness and love yet the pain is excruciating. There is so much to communicate, talk through, overthink ... and sometimes it just isn't as reality driven as you think. But it's life as I know it.
Shaun and I talk frequently about the complications our life entails, there are so many aspects to wrap our heads around and three little people on three different paths because of two separate events that need the guidance and love of so many.
At the end of the day, I look into their faces and see the reality of it all. They love and are being loved fiercely and truly love is what makes this ride worthwhile.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
New Families
As I am accustomed to, we have many deep conversations doing every day mundane activities.
The other day I was out pushing the kids on the swings when Maya began talking about my and Shaun's upcoming wedding after asking why grandma and papa don't spend the night anymore. (They stayed for over a month after Chris died). I went on to explain I needed a lot of help then because I was very sad and had two kids who needed lots of love. She went on to comment on my "other husband" dying. She then chattered on and I listened intently, always trying to monitor where her thoughts have been and where they are going so I can help her navigate the road only to be suddenly stopped in my tracks.
"And Chris is going to have a new family too."
Huh?
I simply said, "What, sweetie?" attempting to swallow back the tears in my voice.
"Chris is going to get married to and have a new family too."
"Chris, your daddy?"
"Yup!"
My heart skipped a beat, sweat beads appeared on my forehead and my voice caught in my throat.
"Maya, we are his family, even if he isn't here. He isn't going to get married to anyone else in heaven or have any more kids. You are the lucky ones. He's still your daddy and you're still his daughter no matter where he is...even in heaven. Daddy's life in heave isn't like our life here."
It was silent and I tried to catch a peak of her face as she swung back and forth in front of me. I'd like to say I saw relief, but I couldn't catch a look long enough.
"Oh. Will you push me super high?"
The other day I was out pushing the kids on the swings when Maya began talking about my and Shaun's upcoming wedding after asking why grandma and papa don't spend the night anymore. (They stayed for over a month after Chris died). I went on to explain I needed a lot of help then because I was very sad and had two kids who needed lots of love. She went on to comment on my "other husband" dying. She then chattered on and I listened intently, always trying to monitor where her thoughts have been and where they are going so I can help her navigate the road only to be suddenly stopped in my tracks.
"And Chris is going to have a new family too."
Huh?
I simply said, "What, sweetie?" attempting to swallow back the tears in my voice.
"Chris is going to get married to and have a new family too."
"Chris, your daddy?"
"Yup!"
My heart skipped a beat, sweat beads appeared on my forehead and my voice caught in my throat.
"Maya, we are his family, even if he isn't here. He isn't going to get married to anyone else in heaven or have any more kids. You are the lucky ones. He's still your daddy and you're still his daughter no matter where he is...even in heaven. Daddy's life in heave isn't like our life here."
It was silent and I tried to catch a peak of her face as she swung back and forth in front of me. I'd like to say I saw relief, but I couldn't catch a look long enough.
"Oh. Will you push me super high?"
Monday, April 9, 2012
April 9th
Today, seven years ago, I married Chris at the Hollywood Schoolhouse in Woodinville.
I watched him, flushed from nervousness as I prayed he wouldn't faint. He hated being the center of attention.
Seven years ago began an amazing, crazy, unimaginable journey. It was an adventure I thought would take me from wedding to wife then onto motherhood and into middle age. I had a journey in mind. My path was clearly laid before me. Together we had enormous dreams and we set out to accomplish them.
Today it's difficult to put into words my feelings. I listened to this song and I smiled... it reminds me of Chris' attitude about life.
We played this song after Chris' service. I still love the idea that he is over the rainbow, thinking about what a wonderful life it was. Chris was so light hearted; it's what first attracted me to him. He loved so easily and had an enormous heart. Ok, now I'm crying. That wasn't the plan. I think it perhaps was a little too brave to open that song to play in another window.
Today I stopped frequently to mentally pen what I might say about this day and what it meant to me. I seem to have lost all eloquence.
Seven year ago it was the beginning of a wonderful journey. Six years ago it was the beginning of parenthood...ok so not human parents but doggy parents. Five year ago I was on the verge of having our first child and we were so nervous. Four years ago we couldn't believe we had a one year old and tried to celebrate at a B&B on Orcas only for Chris to fall ill with a high fever for the weekend. Three years ago I was pregnant with our son, completing our family. Two years ago I was registering Maya for preschool and looking at Owen's first birthday coming up and we celebrated with a weekend in Seattle. One year ago I couldn't believe my loss, devastation and I was even shocked at my ability to move forward, one step at a time.
The other night I was reminded of what a great laugh Chris had when Maya wanted to see our old videos. I love both of these following videos. They remind me of our happiness. They remind me of how much he loved those kids and most of all they remind me that my life was real and not this blur of a memory, as if it passed way to quickly to really ingest the gravity of the little moments.
Tonight, on the seventh anniversary of the day we married...I raise my glass to an amazing guy, one whom I was proud to share my life with and who lead me on so many of my greatest adventures in life thus far. Rest peacefully.
I watched him, flushed from nervousness as I prayed he wouldn't faint. He hated being the center of attention.
Seven years ago began an amazing, crazy, unimaginable journey. It was an adventure I thought would take me from wedding to wife then onto motherhood and into middle age. I had a journey in mind. My path was clearly laid before me. Together we had enormous dreams and we set out to accomplish them.
Today it's difficult to put into words my feelings. I listened to this song and I smiled... it reminds me of Chris' attitude about life.
We played this song after Chris' service. I still love the idea that he is over the rainbow, thinking about what a wonderful life it was. Chris was so light hearted; it's what first attracted me to him. He loved so easily and had an enormous heart. Ok, now I'm crying. That wasn't the plan. I think it perhaps was a little too brave to open that song to play in another window.
Today I stopped frequently to mentally pen what I might say about this day and what it meant to me. I seem to have lost all eloquence.
Seven year ago it was the beginning of a wonderful journey. Six years ago it was the beginning of parenthood...ok so not human parents but doggy parents. Five year ago I was on the verge of having our first child and we were so nervous. Four years ago we couldn't believe we had a one year old and tried to celebrate at a B&B on Orcas only for Chris to fall ill with a high fever for the weekend. Three years ago I was pregnant with our son, completing our family. Two years ago I was registering Maya for preschool and looking at Owen's first birthday coming up and we celebrated with a weekend in Seattle. One year ago I couldn't believe my loss, devastation and I was even shocked at my ability to move forward, one step at a time.
The other night I was reminded of what a great laugh Chris had when Maya wanted to see our old videos. I love both of these following videos. They remind me of our happiness. They remind me of how much he loved those kids and most of all they remind me that my life was real and not this blur of a memory, as if it passed way to quickly to really ingest the gravity of the little moments.
Tonight, on the seventh anniversary of the day we married...I raise my glass to an amazing guy, one whom I was proud to share my life with and who lead me on so many of my greatest adventures in life thus far. Rest peacefully.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Videos
Maya reminded me of the "Blanket Boy" video that Chris recorded about a month before his death. She used to watch is quite often.
She wanted to watch it so me, Maya and Owen snuggled into the big computer chair and watched old videos for a half hour and even ended listening to Chris' voicemail message I recorded.
"Can daddy come back some day?"
Tears...and the to Maya that death is permanent.
Oh yeah....she says. I love daddy. {smile}
She wanted to watch it so me, Maya and Owen snuggled into the big computer chair and watched old videos for a half hour and even ended listening to Chris' voicemail message I recorded.
"Can daddy come back some day?"
Tears...and the to Maya that death is permanent.
Oh yeah....she says. I love daddy. {smile}
Where is he?
Where is he? That's such a good question.
It would be fine if it was just a question circulating my mind. Instead, as I was looking at a picture of Chris, whom Owen has taken to calling "daddy Chris" he asked that question...Where is he? In heaven was my answer.
Puzzled look...tiny smile, a kiss good night.
He doesn't get it.
I've been encouraging the distinction of daddy Chris because I think Owen needs more information. His mind is uber inquisitive and he wants to know everything. I love it. However, it's a painful moment. I also want the definition because Owen is becoming more accustomed to calling Shaun, daddy when Riley is here. His understanding of parental titles is somewhat fluid.
So there it is. The moment he asked. It was hard, not in the ugly cry sort of way but in the heart ache sort of way.
It would be fine if it was just a question circulating my mind. Instead, as I was looking at a picture of Chris, whom Owen has taken to calling "daddy Chris" he asked that question...Where is he? In heaven was my answer.
Puzzled look...tiny smile, a kiss good night.
He doesn't get it.
I've been encouraging the distinction of daddy Chris because I think Owen needs more information. His mind is uber inquisitive and he wants to know everything. I love it. However, it's a painful moment. I also want the definition because Owen is becoming more accustomed to calling Shaun, daddy when Riley is here. His understanding of parental titles is somewhat fluid.
So there it is. The moment he asked. It was hard, not in the ugly cry sort of way but in the heart ache sort of way.
How Does She Do It?
Usually you can find me fluttering about my home, June Cleaver style, in my dress and heels working patiently to keep my home, my man and my kids happy.
Or you will find me trying to convince my 2 1/2 year old son to put his underwear back on and he runs around me making comments about his penis and the poop he left in the toilet.
Maybe you will find me cleaning poop out of my other 2 1/2 year old's underwear...she is taking less kindly to potty training now.
Perhaps instead you will find me discussing poop with my almost 5 year old who has been struggling with painful constipation which is only recently undercontrol.
I'm pretty sure June Cleaver didn't talk about poop as much as I do. I spend an exorbitant amount of time in the bathroom, wiping little bootys, plunging toilets, discussing the goings on of the rectum. It's a glamorous life, really, mostly done in my yoga pants and sweatshirt sans the heels.
Ok, that's not what I intended to write about but as I opened the window to blog, my son was refusing to retrieve his underwear from the bathroom.
What's on my mind? How to love again.
It's such a difficult subject to explain. Love the first time...sans kids, sans dogs, sans house and the weight of being widowed is a far different experience than love filled with the adventure of kids, dogs, house, families, ex wives, and all the extended family and friends involved.
I suppose I should explain, I wasn't looking for love. I wasn't even positive my heart was open to it. I was lonely and looking for a little adventure, maybe a date, maybe a few dates, maybe a disaster and the realization I wasn't ready. Instead I found Shaun. He wasn't sure he was ready to date either, ha! He was going to go on a date before he left for 3 weeks but we had to cancel at the last minute. Instead I found a friend then a love... we talked, emailed and texted for 3 weeks before our first in person encounter and it was a total of 4 weeks before he was home. It was a different whirlwind adventure which I loved.
The reality of love the second time, in our situation is there is drama, ha! It's taught us to be patient, understanding and we realized very, very early on that our communication skills needed to be strong. Our life entails a plethora of entities ranging from ourselves to ex families to late families to those we aren't related to at all. At the end of the day...there is love. The willingness to work because Lord knows this ain't easy, and the willingness to look out for ourselves, our loved ones, our hearts and especially our kids.
Or you will find me trying to convince my 2 1/2 year old son to put his underwear back on and he runs around me making comments about his penis and the poop he left in the toilet.
Maybe you will find me cleaning poop out of my other 2 1/2 year old's underwear...she is taking less kindly to potty training now.
Perhaps instead you will find me discussing poop with my almost 5 year old who has been struggling with painful constipation which is only recently undercontrol.
I'm pretty sure June Cleaver didn't talk about poop as much as I do. I spend an exorbitant amount of time in the bathroom, wiping little bootys, plunging toilets, discussing the goings on of the rectum. It's a glamorous life, really, mostly done in my yoga pants and sweatshirt sans the heels.
Ok, that's not what I intended to write about but as I opened the window to blog, my son was refusing to retrieve his underwear from the bathroom.
What's on my mind? How to love again.
It's such a difficult subject to explain. Love the first time...sans kids, sans dogs, sans house and the weight of being widowed is a far different experience than love filled with the adventure of kids, dogs, house, families, ex wives, and all the extended family and friends involved.
I suppose I should explain, I wasn't looking for love. I wasn't even positive my heart was open to it. I was lonely and looking for a little adventure, maybe a date, maybe a few dates, maybe a disaster and the realization I wasn't ready. Instead I found Shaun. He wasn't sure he was ready to date either, ha! He was going to go on a date before he left for 3 weeks but we had to cancel at the last minute. Instead I found a friend then a love... we talked, emailed and texted for 3 weeks before our first in person encounter and it was a total of 4 weeks before he was home. It was a different whirlwind adventure which I loved.
The reality of love the second time, in our situation is there is drama, ha! It's taught us to be patient, understanding and we realized very, very early on that our communication skills needed to be strong. Our life entails a plethora of entities ranging from ourselves to ex families to late families to those we aren't related to at all. At the end of the day...there is love. The willingness to work because Lord knows this ain't easy, and the willingness to look out for ourselves, our loved ones, our hearts and especially our kids.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Dear Me....
I suppose if I were to counsel another widow or even Sabrina of November 17, 2010 I would have a few pieces of advice, insight, forewarning...
For example, don't panic about money unless you absolutely positively should. The inference is that I did and it's true. I remember panicking that Chris was dead and in my disbelief I was sure I would be down to my last cent, lose my home and be working full time while being forced t move in with my parents. That scenario couldn't have been further from the truth. I had enough, Social Security truly paid out at the allotted amount and Hermanson Co was more than generous in supporting us with several checks, bonuses etc., that ultimately I was fine, more than fine. The lesson I learned, don't panic and cash out everything in pensions and retirements. It costs way to much in taxes and the money could have grown plus it has made my year end taxes a mess.
Speak up. I listened to this in a 50/50 sort of manner. I needed help, I needed breaks, I needed friends, I needed a new life, I needed a place to start from, I needed a shoulder to cry on, I needed to not be judged. I would not say I am someone who pulls punches but I let my pride get the best of me in too many moments. Looking back I know it was easier to say "I will be fine tomorrow, no worries" than to anticipate sitting in silence with someone, feeling like I needed to fill the empty space with explanation and examination. At times I rode through white knuckling it on a wing and a prayer mixed with a few cuss words.
Find peace. Whatever it takes to find that thing which allows you to take a deep breath and find peace even if it is fleeting and difficult to grasp on to. Once you find it, hold on for dear life because it will try to escape you. The peace is important. It's not about letting go, it's not about loving less, it's not about pushing that life aside... it's about accepting the journey before you. It's about appreciating the world as it was, as it is and as it will become. It's about accepting that life can still contain happiness and love and joy. It's also about letting go of the guilt those joyous moments bring, because girl, you will feel guilt in many different ways over more things than you will be able to anticipate. Don't worry if it evades you temporarily...it will return. Keep striving for it and don't give up.
Love what's left. Hold on to your kids, hold on to your family, hold on to your pictures and that ratty old sweatshirt that makes your smile in the moment you put it on and most of all love those memories and love it all with what is left in your soul. It won't feel like much but that strength you have to love and hold on...it will grow too. Most of all remember you are what is left too. Love yourself for who you were, who you are and who you are becoming. Love the fact that we are able to change. Holding on to who you were, as a whole, will break your heart because part of what made you, you...is gone. Love completely and unconditionally. Especially apply this to yourself.
Take guidance but go with your head, your heart, your gut ... you know what's right, even alone. You knew what was right before and you will know what is right now. You will make choices that you will regret and some that you will relish. Appreciate both. In retrospect you will realize some decisions which felt major were truly minuscule in the grand scheme but in the end, you know what's right, your know what is good for you and your family and you will come out of the fog with all of these things intact.
Understand the criticism. This doesn't mean to simply take it or to fight back but try to understand it. We each have our own journey through grief. Some lash out, some have an idea of the 'right' path, some simply think they are protecting those who have passed on. In reality it is us who is left. We must live for us. But, take a moment to come to terms with the criticism. God knows I had my moments, I still do. Understand, come to peace and move forward
Finally, understand it won't end, it will only change. The second year, it's more difficult. The first year was about making it through the fog then finding a glimpse of myself while figuring out how to function and run life on my own. In my first year, I unexpectedly found love but it doesn't mean the grief is over. The second year brings much realization that life has changed so much, that your kids are moving on without their other parent and that the dreams you once had are truly set aside. There are moments of tears, moments of fears, moments of longing for when life was the easy norm you once knew. The new life, it can seem overwhelming, uphill, hard to manage. But, you can do it. Keep pushing.
For example, don't panic about money unless you absolutely positively should. The inference is that I did and it's true. I remember panicking that Chris was dead and in my disbelief I was sure I would be down to my last cent, lose my home and be working full time while being forced t move in with my parents. That scenario couldn't have been further from the truth. I had enough, Social Security truly paid out at the allotted amount and Hermanson Co was more than generous in supporting us with several checks, bonuses etc., that ultimately I was fine, more than fine. The lesson I learned, don't panic and cash out everything in pensions and retirements. It costs way to much in taxes and the money could have grown plus it has made my year end taxes a mess.
Speak up. I listened to this in a 50/50 sort of manner. I needed help, I needed breaks, I needed friends, I needed a new life, I needed a place to start from, I needed a shoulder to cry on, I needed to not be judged. I would not say I am someone who pulls punches but I let my pride get the best of me in too many moments. Looking back I know it was easier to say "I will be fine tomorrow, no worries" than to anticipate sitting in silence with someone, feeling like I needed to fill the empty space with explanation and examination. At times I rode through white knuckling it on a wing and a prayer mixed with a few cuss words.
Find peace. Whatever it takes to find that thing which allows you to take a deep breath and find peace even if it is fleeting and difficult to grasp on to. Once you find it, hold on for dear life because it will try to escape you. The peace is important. It's not about letting go, it's not about loving less, it's not about pushing that life aside... it's about accepting the journey before you. It's about appreciating the world as it was, as it is and as it will become. It's about accepting that life can still contain happiness and love and joy. It's also about letting go of the guilt those joyous moments bring, because girl, you will feel guilt in many different ways over more things than you will be able to anticipate. Don't worry if it evades you temporarily...it will return. Keep striving for it and don't give up.
Love what's left. Hold on to your kids, hold on to your family, hold on to your pictures and that ratty old sweatshirt that makes your smile in the moment you put it on and most of all love those memories and love it all with what is left in your soul. It won't feel like much but that strength you have to love and hold on...it will grow too. Most of all remember you are what is left too. Love yourself for who you were, who you are and who you are becoming. Love the fact that we are able to change. Holding on to who you were, as a whole, will break your heart because part of what made you, you...is gone. Love completely and unconditionally. Especially apply this to yourself.
Take guidance but go with your head, your heart, your gut ... you know what's right, even alone. You knew what was right before and you will know what is right now. You will make choices that you will regret and some that you will relish. Appreciate both. In retrospect you will realize some decisions which felt major were truly minuscule in the grand scheme but in the end, you know what's right, your know what is good for you and your family and you will come out of the fog with all of these things intact.
Understand the criticism. This doesn't mean to simply take it or to fight back but try to understand it. We each have our own journey through grief. Some lash out, some have an idea of the 'right' path, some simply think they are protecting those who have passed on. In reality it is us who is left. We must live for us. But, take a moment to come to terms with the criticism. God knows I had my moments, I still do. Understand, come to peace and move forward
Finally, understand it won't end, it will only change. The second year, it's more difficult. The first year was about making it through the fog then finding a glimpse of myself while figuring out how to function and run life on my own. In my first year, I unexpectedly found love but it doesn't mean the grief is over. The second year brings much realization that life has changed so much, that your kids are moving on without their other parent and that the dreams you once had are truly set aside. There are moments of tears, moments of fears, moments of longing for when life was the easy norm you once knew. The new life, it can seem overwhelming, uphill, hard to manage. But, you can do it. Keep pushing.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
His voice
At bed time Maya picked out a book I made when she was 18 months old for Chris for Christmas called My Daddy and I. It was a silly little photo book all abou Chris and Maya's adventures. After I finished she looked at me and said, "Mommy, what did his voice sound like?"
That question and the conversation that followed affirmed a fear of mine.
She has forgotten so much.
We snuggled in her bed for quite awhile talking about Chris and I reaffirmed my need to remind her frequently about him...his favorites, his interests, his dislikes so that some day she has facts about him she can call her own.
That day came way too fast.
That question and the conversation that followed affirmed a fear of mine.
She has forgotten so much.
We snuggled in her bed for quite awhile talking about Chris and I reaffirmed my need to remind her frequently about him...his favorites, his interests, his dislikes so that some day she has facts about him she can call her own.
That day came way too fast.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Mommy, remember to pray
As Maya was buckling her seat belt today she said "Mommy, you should remember to pray every day and thank daddy. He loves you." I had turned around to start the car already and found myself staring at my keys for a moment by the shift in our conversation. I turned around to ask her if someone at preschool told her that. She said "No, Mommy, it's in my own brain." The conversation went on, but it had me thinking. I do need to thank Chris.
The conversation lead me to a "where am I at?" moment. Over the past 13+ months, I've had many moments of self evaluation in a personal attempt to be mindful of my progress and check in with myself about the reality of my situation.
So...where am I?
Perhaps I should back track. November was ugly. Down right difficult. I slogged through many days remembering Chris. I found myself returning to the last days Chris, Maya, Owen and I were a family; to the day of Chris' death and returning to the lingering questions about his death. I had come so far, made much peace with the changes in my life and felt a compelling need to maintain his memory yet there I was...slogging with the elephant on my chest. Looking back two months, I was lucky. I have an amazingly understanding boyfriend and family as well as friends who are supportive and inquisitive about it all, leaving me many avenues to express my thoughts. In the end, I didn't turn to writing for once. Instead I talked and internalized (not so much a good option). Those last days of Chris' life bring lingering doubt and sadness. I will always wish I had been able to identify the signs of a heart attack or that Chris had been able to. I will always wonder if some of the odd things I noticed afterward were the signs I missed. Of course, there will never be conclusions to these thoughts and questions thus really they are things I must continue to work toward letting go of.
In the aftermath of a year, I realize how far I have come. I am amazed by the support and caring thoughts which poured into my life via the mail, email, Internet, Facebook, flower shop. I had more birthday, Valentines and Christmas cards than I had had in years. Sometimes they were bittersweet, a reminder that others know about my loneliness. Mostly they were an affirmation that I was not alone and that those who loved us would walk beside us in our journey.
I learned that I can withstand the solitary days and nights. I learned that I can ask for support or help when I need it. I learned that it's okay to show weaknesses and insecurities. I also learned how much Chris had taught me about living and loving life. Today I was reminded about this by Lora. Chris was always looking for a new restaurant to try, a new show to see, a new park to visit. He always had something on his agenda to try or place to go. In that he taught me that life is not about what happens to you but how you react to those things, what you choose to seek and how you choose to focus your energies. Life should never feel mundane as long as you are seeking adventure and happiness. Don't get me wrong, I have three kids under the age of 5 thus routine is our friend, but we seek out those adventures in our own ways.
I learned from Chris how to be more patient. I would not say I am patient however, I am more patient than I once was. Few things ruffled his feathers and when they did, I knew it was pretty bad. I definitely learned life is not to be wasted irritated about the inconsequential things.
Of course the raging question has been, how was the one year anniversary. I don't know why but I stuggled to sit down and write about it. In the weeks leading up to it I was stressed about being in my home, going through a relatively similar routine on the anniversary so instead, I ran away. Ok, not really but the kids stayed with my parents and I stayed overnight at the Tulalip with Shaun. It was a relief. We ate, played a bit and shared a bottle of wine. The morning of November 17th at 9:30 a.m. I found myself in bed watching the news. I felt slightly frozen, waiting for the moment to pass like Y2K. Would something happen? Would I feel the same? In retrospect, it was all a little silly. It really truly was a moment of passing, a moment to remember the last time I saw Chris, to think about the life we had built, to recall the panick of finding him dead as well as a moment to recognize the strides I made this last year to be proactive as opposed to reactive to my life.
I have told my story more times than I could even count and continue to more often than I would like. People are curious, I know. Now I am in a position where I talk about my boyfriend so often that people are beginning to think I'm divorced which is a whole new can of worms. There are times when I don't want to share my story. The shocked, pitying looks are enough to dissolve my resolve to move forward on a positive path. Retelling the story is difficult. I've told it so many times that it rarely results in the shedding of tears by me but it usually does for those I'm telling and then roles are reversed, I'm assuring them that it's ok, I'm ok, the kids are ok and that sometimes life doesn't head in the direction you wanted but that that is OK too.
Life is hardly a simple thing to predict. Shaun and I had a semi-morbid discussion about what would happen if one of us died today...kids, his ex, families. We discussed who would care and who would move on, merely passing another milestone. It was funny only in that I reminded Shaun he was preaching to the choir about this. Life is never exactly what you think it is, I just always hope when it fails to meet my expectations about where I am or where I am headed that I can grasp on to the parts that are still extraordinary, fondly remember the parts that have passed and continue on a positive path even if my destination has changed. I have been repeatedly reminded that life is about change and that nothing ever stays the same. Even when you have lost what you envision as your greatness, there is still more in store for you. At times it's a matter of courage and encouragement.
These 13 months have been full of surprises both good and bad. I have learned that some friendships fade while others find their glory in the shade of grief. I have remembered that I am a self-sufficient, confident and capable woman and mother. I have recognized that though we travel the path of grief together, it is still an individual journey and we are still each facing it and coming to peace with the events at our own pace and in our own way as well as the fact that it is a life long journey. I have understood the true meaning of family as my family has changed, morphed and multiplied as well as fallen away.
Most of all I have understood the meaning of love. As someone who had not predicted an end to her marriage, I was under the assumption that love is something you find, keep and die with. My idea had to change immediately because the thought of a solitary life was suffocating. My new path has lead me to love...and so the journey continues.
I will never be able to completely shed the label widow, but from it I have learned so much. Perhaps identifying with it isn't such a bad thing after all.
The conversation lead me to a "where am I at?" moment. Over the past 13+ months, I've had many moments of self evaluation in a personal attempt to be mindful of my progress and check in with myself about the reality of my situation.
So...where am I?
Perhaps I should back track. November was ugly. Down right difficult. I slogged through many days remembering Chris. I found myself returning to the last days Chris, Maya, Owen and I were a family; to the day of Chris' death and returning to the lingering questions about his death. I had come so far, made much peace with the changes in my life and felt a compelling need to maintain his memory yet there I was...slogging with the elephant on my chest. Looking back two months, I was lucky. I have an amazingly understanding boyfriend and family as well as friends who are supportive and inquisitive about it all, leaving me many avenues to express my thoughts. In the end, I didn't turn to writing for once. Instead I talked and internalized (not so much a good option). Those last days of Chris' life bring lingering doubt and sadness. I will always wish I had been able to identify the signs of a heart attack or that Chris had been able to. I will always wonder if some of the odd things I noticed afterward were the signs I missed. Of course, there will never be conclusions to these thoughts and questions thus really they are things I must continue to work toward letting go of.
In the aftermath of a year, I realize how far I have come. I am amazed by the support and caring thoughts which poured into my life via the mail, email, Internet, Facebook, flower shop. I had more birthday, Valentines and Christmas cards than I had had in years. Sometimes they were bittersweet, a reminder that others know about my loneliness. Mostly they were an affirmation that I was not alone and that those who loved us would walk beside us in our journey.
I learned that I can withstand the solitary days and nights. I learned that I can ask for support or help when I need it. I learned that it's okay to show weaknesses and insecurities. I also learned how much Chris had taught me about living and loving life. Today I was reminded about this by Lora. Chris was always looking for a new restaurant to try, a new show to see, a new park to visit. He always had something on his agenda to try or place to go. In that he taught me that life is not about what happens to you but how you react to those things, what you choose to seek and how you choose to focus your energies. Life should never feel mundane as long as you are seeking adventure and happiness. Don't get me wrong, I have three kids under the age of 5 thus routine is our friend, but we seek out those adventures in our own ways.
I learned from Chris how to be more patient. I would not say I am patient however, I am more patient than I once was. Few things ruffled his feathers and when they did, I knew it was pretty bad. I definitely learned life is not to be wasted irritated about the inconsequential things.
Of course the raging question has been, how was the one year anniversary. I don't know why but I stuggled to sit down and write about it. In the weeks leading up to it I was stressed about being in my home, going through a relatively similar routine on the anniversary so instead, I ran away. Ok, not really but the kids stayed with my parents and I stayed overnight at the Tulalip with Shaun. It was a relief. We ate, played a bit and shared a bottle of wine. The morning of November 17th at 9:30 a.m. I found myself in bed watching the news. I felt slightly frozen, waiting for the moment to pass like Y2K. Would something happen? Would I feel the same? In retrospect, it was all a little silly. It really truly was a moment of passing, a moment to remember the last time I saw Chris, to think about the life we had built, to recall the panick of finding him dead as well as a moment to recognize the strides I made this last year to be proactive as opposed to reactive to my life.
I have told my story more times than I could even count and continue to more often than I would like. People are curious, I know. Now I am in a position where I talk about my boyfriend so often that people are beginning to think I'm divorced which is a whole new can of worms. There are times when I don't want to share my story. The shocked, pitying looks are enough to dissolve my resolve to move forward on a positive path. Retelling the story is difficult. I've told it so many times that it rarely results in the shedding of tears by me but it usually does for those I'm telling and then roles are reversed, I'm assuring them that it's ok, I'm ok, the kids are ok and that sometimes life doesn't head in the direction you wanted but that that is OK too.
Life is hardly a simple thing to predict. Shaun and I had a semi-morbid discussion about what would happen if one of us died today...kids, his ex, families. We discussed who would care and who would move on, merely passing another milestone. It was funny only in that I reminded Shaun he was preaching to the choir about this. Life is never exactly what you think it is, I just always hope when it fails to meet my expectations about where I am or where I am headed that I can grasp on to the parts that are still extraordinary, fondly remember the parts that have passed and continue on a positive path even if my destination has changed. I have been repeatedly reminded that life is about change and that nothing ever stays the same. Even when you have lost what you envision as your greatness, there is still more in store for you. At times it's a matter of courage and encouragement.
These 13 months have been full of surprises both good and bad. I have learned that some friendships fade while others find their glory in the shade of grief. I have remembered that I am a self-sufficient, confident and capable woman and mother. I have recognized that though we travel the path of grief together, it is still an individual journey and we are still each facing it and coming to peace with the events at our own pace and in our own way as well as the fact that it is a life long journey. I have understood the true meaning of family as my family has changed, morphed and multiplied as well as fallen away.
Most of all I have understood the meaning of love. As someone who had not predicted an end to her marriage, I was under the assumption that love is something you find, keep and die with. My idea had to change immediately because the thought of a solitary life was suffocating. My new path has lead me to love...and so the journey continues.
I will never be able to completely shed the label widow, but from it I have learned so much. Perhaps identifying with it isn't such a bad thing after all.
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