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.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
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.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
echo
Reality check a day 353, grief still hurts.
On Sunday I attended my nieces' 5th birthday party. The reality of Chris' brother and best friend without him in their presence is still a stark reality. As I sat helping the babies decorate cupcakes the song Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole came on in the cupcake shop. This song played several times as people got up from Chris' memorial service. It's in moments like those that I smile and say hello to Chris. I'm not sure they are signs of anything but they are moments in which I can smile and remember Chris. Subsequently, my neices' birthday party was one of the last events Chris attended. In my heart, it's one of the events in the count down to Chris' death.
Two days later I s on my way to plan a baby shower I heard the song The End by Pearl Jam and ... there I was with hot tears running down my face at the off ramp. I could swear I can hear my heart crack when I hear the line "How it pains me to leave me here with the kids on your own." Chris would never have left had there been a choice. He would not have wanted his children to question his absence or feel the pain of not knowing him.
That night I opened a book on grief that I had set aside months ago and this quote struck me...
"Real grief is not healed by time. If time does anything, it deepens our grief. The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who he was for us, and the more intimately we experience what his love meant for us. Real, deep love is, as you know, very unobtrusive, seemingly easy and obvious and so present that we take it for granted. Therefore, it is often only in retrospect - or better, in memory- that we fully realize its power and depths. Yes, indeed, love often makes itself visible in pain." Henri Nouwen.
Not a day goes by when I don't often think of Chris. Usually with a fond memory, a smile. Sometimes with a tear at something he has missed in the lives of his children. The pain, though it's strength varies, is still palpable.
It's been quite awhile since I have had a truly terrible day but this week it started with Tuesday and it was then that I knew it was coming. The exhaustion of grief. In my life it has often manifested itself as exhaustion, the kind where you can barely open your eyes. Wednesday arrived with my body moving at an inept speed and my mind unable to shake the cobwebs of the past.
This morning I was drying off after my shower and looked down at the floor of the bath tub as my mind went to the question, what was his last breath like?
Really, I just want to know if he was scared or willing me to come help him. There is not only an amazing amount of pain but also guilt in the death of another, at least for me, know Chris was dying only 20 feet from where I sat.
So here I am at the cusp of the one year anniversary and as it is with children, our routines are very similar despite the unrecognizable format of my life.
I struggled to live through the 9 o'clock hour for weeks after Chris' death followed by my detest of Wednesdays then my dislike of the 17th. So what is it now? Right now I dislike my brain's ability to replay a month's worth of events, to feel the emotions of that day so clearly, to hear the conversations from that morning echo through the chambers of my mind.
What will you be doing on November 17th at 9:30 a.m.? Yeah, I'm not sure either.
On Sunday I attended my nieces' 5th birthday party. The reality of Chris' brother and best friend without him in their presence is still a stark reality. As I sat helping the babies decorate cupcakes the song Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole came on in the cupcake shop. This song played several times as people got up from Chris' memorial service. It's in moments like those that I smile and say hello to Chris. I'm not sure they are signs of anything but they are moments in which I can smile and remember Chris. Subsequently, my neices' birthday party was one of the last events Chris attended. In my heart, it's one of the events in the count down to Chris' death.
Two days later I s on my way to plan a baby shower I heard the song The End by Pearl Jam and ... there I was with hot tears running down my face at the off ramp. I could swear I can hear my heart crack when I hear the line "How it pains me to leave me here with the kids on your own." Chris would never have left had there been a choice. He would not have wanted his children to question his absence or feel the pain of not knowing him.
That night I opened a book on grief that I had set aside months ago and this quote struck me...
"Real grief is not healed by time. If time does anything, it deepens our grief. The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who he was for us, and the more intimately we experience what his love meant for us. Real, deep love is, as you know, very unobtrusive, seemingly easy and obvious and so present that we take it for granted. Therefore, it is often only in retrospect - or better, in memory- that we fully realize its power and depths. Yes, indeed, love often makes itself visible in pain." Henri Nouwen.
Not a day goes by when I don't often think of Chris. Usually with a fond memory, a smile. Sometimes with a tear at something he has missed in the lives of his children. The pain, though it's strength varies, is still palpable.
It's been quite awhile since I have had a truly terrible day but this week it started with Tuesday and it was then that I knew it was coming. The exhaustion of grief. In my life it has often manifested itself as exhaustion, the kind where you can barely open your eyes. Wednesday arrived with my body moving at an inept speed and my mind unable to shake the cobwebs of the past.
This morning I was drying off after my shower and looked down at the floor of the bath tub as my mind went to the question, what was his last breath like?
Really, I just want to know if he was scared or willing me to come help him. There is not only an amazing amount of pain but also guilt in the death of another, at least for me, know Chris was dying only 20 feet from where I sat.
So here I am at the cusp of the one year anniversary and as it is with children, our routines are very similar despite the unrecognizable format of my life.
I struggled to live through the 9 o'clock hour for weeks after Chris' death followed by my detest of Wednesdays then my dislike of the 17th. So what is it now? Right now I dislike my brain's ability to replay a month's worth of events, to feel the emotions of that day so clearly, to hear the conversations from that morning echo through the chambers of my mind.
What will you be doing on November 17th at 9:30 a.m.? Yeah, I'm not sure either.
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