At 6:10 a.m. this morning I could hear Owen waking up. Goodness that boy doesn't cut his momma a break even today.
I realized immediately...today it's been a month. I know, I already blogged about that, right? What more to say?
Chris' best friend came by the house to check out a project for me. My bathroom is getting a make over. The sound of the sliding shower door makes my stomach turn as does the light brown color on the walls. I can't walk in there without wondering what Chris' last view of this world was. I need to reclaim this space. Death cannot have it. My bedroom is next.
As Brent was leaving I realized that he had come to my house at almost the exact same time one month ago. I remember the look on his face. I knew it was real. Strangely, I couldn't imagine what my husband would do on the other side without his best friend of 26 years.
Shortly after Brent left, I watched as a policeman walked up my front steps...then another, and another. At first I wondered if one of the kids had got hold of the phone again and accidentally called 911 like they did last summer. When I opened the door, I realized there were 5 policemen - all familiar faces from one month ago today. I wonder if their timing was purposeful.
Officer Stevenson gave me a card and spoke for the group. He told me how the call had impacted all of them and that they would not soon forget it. He had tears in his eyes. I have often reflected on the words Officer Stevenson spoke to me the day Chris died. We were sitting on my back deck, it was raining hard and the water was leaking through the deck roof. I kept apologizing to him that he was getting wet. I felt like I needed to be a good host. He told me his father died in an accident when he was 4. I asked him what his mother did. He told me his story, tears in his eyes, and offered a compassionate shoulder and an understanding ear. He told me I could do it. My kids would be OK. He told me the response of the people already at my house was amazing and that I would have support. I have thought often of this compassionate police officer and will forever appreciate the words of encouragement and the tears in his eyes. I also have to believe there was a reason he was on this call. He was there to connect with me. I needed someone to reign me in an tell me my Earthly life was not ending even if Chris' had.
Today, I cried. I shed tears for the fact that time moves on and pushes me further away from the comforting embrace of my best friend. I shed tears for the IPod that is sitting unused on my counter, for the drawers of clothes that no longer have an owner and for the 172 pages of the book he was reading that will go unread. I shed tears for the fact that there is no one here to wipe them away and keep the world at bay for me.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Normal Stuff
I swear my kids have been doing 'normal' stuff this holiday season...even if it was with me dragging myself through the motions in my molasses covered life. I will update these things one night soon... until then you'll have to imagine them smiling in front of our Christmas tree, enjoying a Santa brunch, and Maya being 'The Shinning Star" at preschool. Even with my heart aching and my body wanting to reject these new memories that Chris is not here to make with us, they are happening and I am doing my best to not live in a complete haze but to take pictures and record them in my memory.
December 17th 2010
One month.
My psychological standpoint is already out there.
My kids....
Owen is rolling with the punches, getting used to going to anyone who is around for what he wants or needs. He's taken his Uncle Brent up to see the light machine in his room, uses his signs to tell people he is hungry or thirsty and is happy to be held or played with by anyone who has stopped by to keep us company or lend a hand. He was needy, wanting to always be held the first week after Chris died. Now he's back to his contented self...happy and smiling. To see the normalcy in him is reassuring that I will find a normalcy in myself.
Maya...the situation has broken her heart. Chris was her best friend. She used wake up each morning and ask me , "Is daddy here?" Maya and Chris both lived for the weekend adventures we all had together. At first she was sad....sad, sad. She wanted him to come back from Heaven. She wanted to give him hug. She wanted to understand, and we all do, why he is gone and not with us. She talked about him in her sleep and became restless at night. She is easily upset by the most minor things...like a comment I made about a shirt that is getting to small. She cried and told me she didn't want the shirt to go away. Really, she has weathered this ugly storm well so far and is more even keel on most days and a roller coaster on others. Some days she is sad...others she is very matter of fact about her Daddy in Heaven and throws her Invisible String up to him. It breaks my heart that she has had this innocence taken from her at such a young age.
So what do I believe?
I wish I could offer a complete answer but 4 weeks in to this new life...I don't have the picture yet. I wish I could say more. I don't understand why my children are being required to live a life in which they will not be able to directly remember what an awesome daddy they had...I feel like it is such a great injustice to them and to him.
I love you Chris. It feels like 4 days you have been gone, not 4 weeks.
My psychological standpoint is already out there.
My kids....
Owen is rolling with the punches, getting used to going to anyone who is around for what he wants or needs. He's taken his Uncle Brent up to see the light machine in his room, uses his signs to tell people he is hungry or thirsty and is happy to be held or played with by anyone who has stopped by to keep us company or lend a hand. He was needy, wanting to always be held the first week after Chris died. Now he's back to his contented self...happy and smiling. To see the normalcy in him is reassuring that I will find a normalcy in myself.
Maya...the situation has broken her heart. Chris was her best friend. She used wake up each morning and ask me , "Is daddy here?" Maya and Chris both lived for the weekend adventures we all had together. At first she was sad....sad, sad. She wanted him to come back from Heaven. She wanted to give him hug. She wanted to understand, and we all do, why he is gone and not with us. She talked about him in her sleep and became restless at night. She is easily upset by the most minor things...like a comment I made about a shirt that is getting to small. She cried and told me she didn't want the shirt to go away. Really, she has weathered this ugly storm well so far and is more even keel on most days and a roller coaster on others. Some days she is sad...others she is very matter of fact about her Daddy in Heaven and throws her Invisible String up to him. It breaks my heart that she has had this innocence taken from her at such a young age.
So what do I believe?
I wish I could offer a complete answer but 4 weeks in to this new life...I don't have the picture yet. I wish I could say more. I don't understand why my children are being required to live a life in which they will not be able to directly remember what an awesome daddy they had...I feel like it is such a great injustice to them and to him.
I love you Chris. It feels like 4 days you have been gone, not 4 weeks.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
To blog or not to blog.
Four weeks ago Chris died, suddenly, in a manner that has shaken me physically, spiritually, emotionally and even socially in a way I could never have understood prior to now.
That morning he was wearing a red t-shirt that said 'Cougar Cage Camp'. I knew he had owned that shirt for a long time. Posthumously I found out that the shirt is about 17 years old. My last view of Chris in this world was him ascending my stairwell, the back of that red shirt and the back of his head. Our last conversation was about our children.
Where to find solace?
I am not sure if that is really a question or a conundrum. Do I find solace in the memories? The thoughts of the Other Side? His Clothes? His kids? All of these are a double edged sword. With each comes not only peace but the realization that this is permanent, final, absolute and that the life I was leading at 9 a.m. on Wednesday November 17, 2010, no longer resembled the life I was leading by 10 a.m that same day.
Blindsided.
I say that, but is it true? In retrospect I see events, conversations, thoughts, dreams that I wonder if they foreshadowed the events that would transpire.
Chris had a dream about a month before he died that bothered him. In his dream someone was trying to take Owen away from him. It was just the two of them and he was physically fighting this person to keep Owen. Chris wasn't bothered by much especially a dream. But this dream was different. He said it seemed so real.
I heard a cough. I heard a thud. A regular morning.
I wonder how long it took him to realize what was happening or if he was already gone from his body before the realization came. I wonder why I wasn't intended to save him but only to find him. In the same breath, I am thankful it was me.
What, then, is grief?
I remember on 9/11 feeling an overwhelming sense of grief. I couldn't figure out why it shook me so much. I felt heavy, slow, sad and on edge with my emotions. Strangers.
I think grief has felt different each of the past 29 days. Disbelief. Shock. Sadness. Terror. Nauseating.
Today it feels heavy. I have grown accustomed to the 'elephant on my chest' phenomenon. Today I managed to move more. I vacuumed and cleaned the wood floors on the main floor of my house. I washed a few windows, cleaned the TV off and disinfected a number of things trying to do away with this virus we have all had. Now it is silent. Maya and Grandma are at Target and Owen is asleep. I wonder if this is how quite the evenings will be once the dust has settled and we are 'on our own.' Quiet. I think I need to learn to meditate.
What's wrong?
This feels like a loaded question. My inner response, is 'duh'? But that's a little on the rude side. Of course, everyone around me knows what is wrong. But where do you begin to answer that question?
In his voice.
This morning I made a final phone call in regard to Chris. I had his cell phone turned off. It took 4 weeks and I know I paid for a whole month for a useless phone that even when he was here to use it, he did not. My hang up, I discovered yesterday, was his voice mail message. It was the only place I could hear him say his own name. I recorded it. Today I woke up and made the call.
Shhhhhhhhhhh.
Am I going to be the woman that hushes the room? Will I be the one who walks in to Maya's kindergarten classroom in two years to have other parents give me that 'knowing' look. Will they know what to say to me when they can't rant about normal life and husband issues? Will I know what to say or when to respond? Will they quiet when I mention my dead husband? Can I even call him that since legally our marriage ended on November 17, 2010?
Maybe this will be hard for you to read. Perhaps it will be too difficult for me to write. I guess as with many things in my life, time will tell.
Four weeks ago Chris died, suddenly, in a manner that has shaken me physically, spiritually, emotionally and even socially in a way I could never have understood prior to now.
That morning he was wearing a red t-shirt that said 'Cougar Cage Camp'. I knew he had owned that shirt for a long time. Posthumously I found out that the shirt is about 17 years old. My last view of Chris in this world was him ascending my stairwell, the back of that red shirt and the back of his head. Our last conversation was about our children.
Where to find solace?
I am not sure if that is really a question or a conundrum. Do I find solace in the memories? The thoughts of the Other Side? His Clothes? His kids? All of these are a double edged sword. With each comes not only peace but the realization that this is permanent, final, absolute and that the life I was leading at 9 a.m. on Wednesday November 17, 2010, no longer resembled the life I was leading by 10 a.m that same day.
Blindsided.
I say that, but is it true? In retrospect I see events, conversations, thoughts, dreams that I wonder if they foreshadowed the events that would transpire.
Chris had a dream about a month before he died that bothered him. In his dream someone was trying to take Owen away from him. It was just the two of them and he was physically fighting this person to keep Owen. Chris wasn't bothered by much especially a dream. But this dream was different. He said it seemed so real.
I heard a cough. I heard a thud. A regular morning.
I wonder how long it took him to realize what was happening or if he was already gone from his body before the realization came. I wonder why I wasn't intended to save him but only to find him. In the same breath, I am thankful it was me.
What, then, is grief?
I remember on 9/11 feeling an overwhelming sense of grief. I couldn't figure out why it shook me so much. I felt heavy, slow, sad and on edge with my emotions. Strangers.
I think grief has felt different each of the past 29 days. Disbelief. Shock. Sadness. Terror. Nauseating.
Today it feels heavy. I have grown accustomed to the 'elephant on my chest' phenomenon. Today I managed to move more. I vacuumed and cleaned the wood floors on the main floor of my house. I washed a few windows, cleaned the TV off and disinfected a number of things trying to do away with this virus we have all had. Now it is silent. Maya and Grandma are at Target and Owen is asleep. I wonder if this is how quite the evenings will be once the dust has settled and we are 'on our own.' Quiet. I think I need to learn to meditate.
What's wrong?
This feels like a loaded question. My inner response, is 'duh'? But that's a little on the rude side. Of course, everyone around me knows what is wrong. But where do you begin to answer that question?
In his voice.
This morning I made a final phone call in regard to Chris. I had his cell phone turned off. It took 4 weeks and I know I paid for a whole month for a useless phone that even when he was here to use it, he did not. My hang up, I discovered yesterday, was his voice mail message. It was the only place I could hear him say his own name. I recorded it. Today I woke up and made the call.
Shhhhhhhhhhh.
Am I going to be the woman that hushes the room? Will I be the one who walks in to Maya's kindergarten classroom in two years to have other parents give me that 'knowing' look. Will they know what to say to me when they can't rant about normal life and husband issues? Will I know what to say or when to respond? Will they quiet when I mention my dead husband? Can I even call him that since legally our marriage ended on November 17, 2010?
Maybe this will be hard for you to read. Perhaps it will be too difficult for me to write. I guess as with many things in my life, time will tell.
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