I Still Miss Him...

Image can be found here...

Please bare with me while I state the obvious...

I still miss him.  Every minute of every hour of every day.

He's the first thing on my mind when I wake.  He's the last thing on my mind as I drift to sleep.  And if I had a dollar for every time I thought of him in between, I'd be the wealthiest person I know.

Most the thoughts are happy.  Most the memories pleasant.  Although they are still usually laced with tears.

There's no words to describe how I feel.  No way to explain the combination of joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain.

Except to say that what we had was wonderful.  Special.

I watched a movie this evening.  In the theatre laced with memories.  Of him.  Us.  "Incredibly Loud and Extremely Close."  That's how his presence is to me.  Loud in that I can't avoid him.  Close in that he's never far away.

One of the characters said that you can only fall in love for the first time once.  That's what he was.  Is.  It can never be taken away.

And I still miss him.  Every minute of every hour of every day....

"This is love, she thought, isn't it?  When you notice someone's absence and hate that absence more than anything?  More, even, than you love his presence?"

 Jonathan Safran Foer "Everything is Illuminated"

With A Little Help From My Friends

Image can be found here

I can admit it.  I do a lot of complaining.  I've heard people say you become selfish in times of trouble.  In times of grief.  As much as I don't like to admit it, I know in many ways I have.  When the need strikes it strikes.  And it hurts that people are not always there and waiting for you.  Kurt would have been....  That they can't drop their lives to tend to mine.  Kurt would have...

Often times its frightening.  The intensity of the emotions which strikes with little warning, when you least expect it, when there's no one there to help.  Its isolating.  And yes, its lonely.  

But that does not mean I am always alone....

People tend to focus on what is absent rather than what is present.  I don't think I'm unique there - I believe that is a general trend amongst many.  So while I bemoan those who have disappeared, or who for whatever reason remain silent, I fail to give equal attention to the other side.

I know I am not always alone as I feel.  There are many people throughout the last year and a half that have held me up when I couldn't stand on my own.  

First off, there is an amazing online community of people much like myself - young men and women who have lost their spouses while still in the prime of their life.  Its an underworld of sorts - you don't know it exists until you need it.  Until you search it out.  Until they catch wind of you and bring you in... But they are always there nonetheless.  They are my 3 a.m. go-to support.  My "no one will understand this but you".  My voice to vent when I think the "real" world has gone haywire.  My place to cry when the intensity of the emotions are too much for even me.  And as they stretch in numbers around the world, I know they are always there.  Their hugs are virtual, but plentiful.  And their doors never close.  I don't believe I have ever before been an indebted to a group of virtual strangers, nor that I have ever felt as close to someone I have not met as I do many of them.  They know more secrets than most people I see on a daily basis.  They have seen parts of my soul I'm not sure I even knew existed.  Though strangers, they are my friends.

Then there are those in my every day.  People I have known since I was a child.  People I met just last week.  These are the people who drive across town to respond to my desperate plea.  Who receive my desperate text messages when I don't know what I feel.  Who watch my son when I need to go and visit my husband.  Who sit with me when I am either afraid or unwilling to be alone.  Their hugs are physical.  They have held me when I cried.  They have felt my tears.  They don't have all the answers, and may never have felt the pain.  But when I need them, when I am brave enough to open up and let it out, they are there.  And when they are unable to be there in person, they are still silently offering their support from the sidelines - the relief player ready to jump in when needed, when called upon.

John Donne told us that "No man is an island."  I feel like one.  Floating alone, surrounded by an ocean fuelled by my sadness, by my tears.  But I know there are people, on life rafts, always near by, ready to pick me up should I fall in or start to drown.  

When you spend a lot of time taking stock of what is missing, its easy to miss what you have.  So before that wave of loneliness strikes again, before the blinders again come up and the isolation and sadness take over, let this stand as my public thank you to all of those people.  I don't need to name them.  They know who they are.

And so do I.......

I love you....

    

     

Happy Birthday

Image can be found here...

He would have been 37 today.  But instead he will remain 35 forever.

God willing, I will watch the seasons change, and the years go by.  He will not.  I will watch our son grow, to become the man his daddy wanted him to be.  He will not.  I will cry many more tears.  Smile many more smiles. Laugh. Sigh. Speak. Breathe.

He will not.

When we pledged our vows, we intended to grow old together.  Watch the years unfold as they are supposed to.  Instead, I will grow old without him.  Its not the way I want things to be.  Not the way we planned things to be.  Not the way things are supposed to be.  But with time I'm coming to understand it is simply the way it is...

Birthday celebrations mark the passage of time.  Another year on this earth.  Another trip around the sun.  So how do you celebrate the birthday of someone who is no longer here?  They do not get older.  There is no extra candle to mark another year.  Yet you cannot erase a birthday.  Alive or not, today still marks the day he was born.  And gives reason to celebrate the years he lived.  Only 35 of them.

All 35 of them.

Not nearly enough.  But enough to make a difference.  He touched many lives...

Tonite Gavin and I will blow out a single candle.  Commemorating not a year, but a life.  A life we love.  A life we celebrate.  And a life we remember.

Happy Birthday, Kurtis.

With This Ring...

Kurtis, I give you this ring as a sign of my vow.  And with all that I am, and all that I have, I honour you. Today.  Tomorrow. And for Always.

That's what I said when I placed the ring on his finger.  When he placed the ring on mine....

At this moment there's an empty place where those rings once sat.  The lines will remain for a while I'm sure, reminding me of what we had.  And lost.  But the physical symbol of our love together has been displaced, moved to an ornamental ring on the other hand.  I feel empty.  Exposed.  Naked.  Alone.  Unprotected.  And numb.  I'm not sure I'm ready, but I don't think there ever will be a time I am.  So today it is, for now.

I guess I'm really not married any more.  I don't know what I am.  But Kurtis, my heart still belongs to you.  Today. Tomorrow. And for Always.

Amen to this.....

Daddy's Arms

My son is like Linus.  You know, that little guy in Charlie Brown always dragging a blanket behind.  For Gavin its his "Di-Di" - a Winnie the Pooh quilt from his crib set.  It goes everywhere with him.  And keeps him safe at night.  But recently, I've noticed a new night time Di-Di in town.....

I haven't done a lot with Kurt's possessions.  Yes, they have moved from front and centre into more discreet locations in the house.  His toothbrush and shaving cream are relegated to the bathroom drawer, rather than taking up valuable counter space.  His shoes tucked neatly in the closet rather than by the front door.  His t-shirts and sweaters sitting folded in a suitcase while my clothes overtake his dresser.  One place I did deal with, however, was the closet.  Aside from a few select pieces - his football jersey, two work shirts, and the t-shirt he took off his back moments before he died... the one which up until very recently still held his smell - aside from those items, his closet is bare.  That is the one thing I let people help me tackle in the days following his death.  I remember telling my mom I didn't think it would be that hard... and then sobbing through the process.  Maybe that's why I stopped there.  Two or three black garbage bags of Kurt left the house that day.... 

 Mom turned those garbage bags into quilts.  Every square a memory for me - a piece of my husband I don't have to feel guilty to hold on to.  Mom designed it with us in mind... Xs and Os.  Hugs and kisses.  Love.  I've slept under my quilt almost every night since.  No one knows it - its always been my little secret.  When I crawl under the covers to sleep, that is the blanket which touches my skin.  Its the night time hug I seek.  It's the warmth I crave.  As I lay in bed, fingering the fabrics, they take me back to where we were... moments that we right.  The day he proposed - that's the blue one with the wide black stripes.  The day our son was baptized - the lighter blue and grey one - I remember buying that not long before.  Our engagement photos - with the white dots... him standing in front of the closet asking my what he should wear.  The first shirt I bought him is there, as is the one I remember him wearing our first family Christmas.  The day he met my family.  The day i met his.  And then there are the less special days... the work shirts in varying shades of wear.  Logos from the job he loved so much.  Memories of him coming home and stripping the shirt - picking it up off the chair.  Waving at him as he drove by our front window.  Watching the car pull out.  Waiting for the car to come home.  The smell of a hard day at work.  Ordinary days in our ordinary life.  Days I would trade my soul to relive...  That's what my Di-Di is made of.  I understand why Linus won't put his down...

Gavin has a blanket like that too.  He doesn't remember the memories, but they are all there just the same. But recently, when I need to settle him at night, when I need him to calm down and go to sleep, the best way to do it is to pull his "daddy blankie" up tight.  It instantly calms him.  Every. Single. Time.  Just like an embrace from the biggest teddy bear I've ever known.  His daddy covering him, protecting him, keeping away any harm.  A shield of sorts, that only daddy can provide.

My son wiggles a lot at night.  He kicks most his covers off.  But in the morning, if I catch him before he wakes, this is what I see.  Snuggled tight in his daddy's arms.....

Matters of the Heart

image can be found here

Kurt died from a heart defect.  I remember one thing from the conversation with the coroner post autopsy. It could be genetic.  And my thoughts when I heard that were the same as they are today...  What does that mean for Gavin?

Kurt died suddenly, no warning.  Kurt's father died suddenly, no warning.  Kurt's grandfather died suddenly - no warning.  And those are the ones we know about.  I'm no doctor, but this sounds genetic to me....

Tomorrow Gavin embarks on his own genetic journey - his first trip to monitor his heart, to determine what the future may hold for him.  And while I know one ECG will not determine the future, particularly on someone as young as Gavin who has a lot of growing and changing to do, in a lot of ways his journey will determine what the future holds for his mom as well.

I know its the start of wondering - exams that pop up annually begging the same questions.  Most importantly, is he okay?  Or is he going to die too?  Exams that pop up annually causing the same stress level and, inevitably, memories of the day I saw all to closely just what this condition can do.  Just another way to tie me to the day I am so desperately trying to avoid....

I'm stressed.  I'm worried.  I remember as an infant, Kurt and I taking our less than 2-week old son to the same hospital for blood work after tests taken at birth detected a potential problem elsewhere.  Kurt and I talking about how we would handle it if our perfect little man wasn't perfect on the inside.  I don't remember what that positive test was for now - it turned out to be nothing in the end - but I do know how I felt.  How I'm sure Kurt felt.  Because I'm feeling that unease, that insecurity, that knot all over again...

I look at the little man now, asleep in his bed, and try to convince myself he is fine.  He seems healthy.  He seems happy.  There's no indication that something is wrong.  But such was the case with his daddy too.  In a lot of ways, Gavin's little heart is beating for two lives... because I don't think my broken heart can take the loss of my leading man again so soon.  I need my reason to live to remain... well.. alive.  For a long, long time.  Longer than me.  Much longer, I hope.

Gavin's a wonderful little boy.  The spontaneous "I Love You Mommy" melts my heart.  He has a huge capacity to love in that big heart of is.  All I can do is hope and pray that his heart is not too big.  The genes have been divided.  There's nothing I can do.  Except cross my fingers, but on the brave mommy face, and tell myself that everything will work out in the end.  I hope after tomorrow I don't have reason to doubt it....

Wednesday

Image can be found here....

Today is Wednesday, January 11.  A seemingly innocuous day on the calendar.  Hump day for most people, and little else.  But not for me.  Kurt died on the 11th.  Wednesday, the 11th.  

Early on, Wednesdays jumped out on the calendar, marking the weeks in a silent progression as I moved farther and farther away from him.  I hated Wednesdays.  I could tell you exactly how many weeks.  Days too, for the longest time.  But somewhere, around day 100 - week 14 or so - Wednesdays slowly drifted back into the calendar.  Days became just that - days.  Weeks became simply weeks.  I was here.  He wasn't.  We were apart.  It didn't matter how long it had been.  Not weekly anyway.  I dreaded that day just a little less...

People told me that was healing.  I believe I just got tired of counting.  Watching the numbers increase hurt a little too much.  It took too much energy to count everything all the time.

But every so often, the calendar aligns and Wednesday rears its ugly head.  Suddenly, for 24 hours, that day again has meaning.  Everything seems so much closer.  Fresher.  Raw.  I relive those early morning moments over and over in my mind.  Him and us, and a typical Wednesday morning.  It was this Wednesday.  Exactly 17 months ago.  74 weeks.  518 days.  It seems like forever.  It seems like yesterday.  Like he was just here.   Like he never was....

Wednesday will never be just another day.  It will always be the day of the week Kurt died.  I just don't think of it that way as often anymore.  And the good thing is tomorrow will be Thursday.  When the day of the week will again not matter, and the months will again be all I count.  Until April, anyhow, when this blast from the past, this shot of reality happens all over again.  

Maybe someday the months will matter less too...  Or maybe I'll just lose count....

Riding The Waves

My last couple of blogs have sparked some controversy.  I'm not going to deny I suspected it would.  Raw emotions and honesty tend to do that.  Especially when they are clustered close together.  But I'm getting this out there for me, not those who read it.  And I'm not going to apologize for it - its how I feel.  Sometimes feelings just aren't pretty....

Image can be found here

I'm not going to deny it.  Its been a rough few days.  The weekend was tough.  I wish I could lift a mirror to my life sometimes - maybe then people could see more clearly.  The oncoming emotions are often referred to as waves.  And we are riding them.  All of us.  Whether we're dealing with elevated emotions due to loss, illness, stress, family, or so forth, or whether we are dealing with the feelings that come on a "normal" day. Some days these emotions hit fast and furious - ranging in extremes in moments.  Other times they seem to linger - unable to escape the less appealing, or unwilling to let go of the more pleasant....  If there's on thing you can't avoid, its the constant stream of ever changing, often unpredictable emotions.

I don't surf.  I'd love to try, but in the landlocked Prairies there just aren't that many waves.  But I've watched surfers enough to know that even the best of them don't catch every wave.  Some waves they ride out standing tall, far above the water.  Others they catch but never really have an opportunity to ride - keeping their heads and bodies upright but little more.  And every so often a wave catches them completely unaware, and they just go under - resurfacing later to try the next one.  Once in a while... on a rare occasion...  I successfully ride a wave out, but most days I'm like that middle surfer.  No finesse.  No long, graceful ride.  Just trying to keep my head above water.  Maybe stand up a little.  And then there's the other times.  Bam, that water hits.  And I find myself underwater, gasping for breath, trying only to claw my way to the surface.  The good thing about those is that I've come to realize the waves don't stay over top of you forever....

For most of the weekend, that has been me - drowning.  But in true ocean fashion, just as quickly as a wave hits, a wave can pass.  With another one right on its tail.  Another chance to try it again.

I wasn't even sure I had surfaced from my last one when the next opportunity hit.  And it came in the form of a small voice on the phone.  Gavin, downstairs, talking to his grandparents.  Mommy upstairs making supper, with the speaker phone turned on so I could listen to it... and at least have an idea what he was up to.  Its the first time in a long, long time that I have just been able to listen to my son.  Not be the one spoken to - or ordered about.  Just listen, and hear.  The wave that hit wasn't sadness or grief.  It wasn't anger.  It wasn't frustration.  Just pure pride.  That's my big little man down there.  He has a daddy.  He'll always have a daddy.  But he is who he is because of me... and him.  In one way, I suppose I am luckier than some.  I have his full attention.  His full heart.

That's not to say everything is great, that life is right.  I'm still sad.  I'm still angry.  I'm still frustrated.  I still feel alone.  But for that moment - this moment - I also feel somewhat okay.  I'm going to bed feeling okay.  And that alone is something to celebrate.

There's going to be a couple of tough days looming on the horizon.  I'm already anticipating Wednesday and Thursday will bring some anxious moments, and yes, some tears.  I'll probably be back to treading water at minimum.  Maybe underwater.  But that just means I'm going to enjoy this view from on top the wave for as long as I can - at least until "real life" starts up again.  After all, isn't the view from the top, the freedom of riding the big one, and the possibility that it will happen again the reason surfers keep coming back to the water?  Isn't it what keeps us all coming back for more?

My Personal Black Hole

Photo can be found here....

They say that anger is a natural stage of the grieving process.  That you should embrace it, rather than fight it.  So here's my admission to all of you... I'm finally angry.  At many of you.  I know its not logical.  And now that I've admitted it, I don't feel any better.

I'm mad at Kurt's family, for passing down the genes that have caused so many problems.

I'm mad at the medical world for not picking up on this sooner.  Really - why must three successive generations die before you figure out something is wrong?  Especially when a simple test would have discovered it.  And why must you figure it out AFTER we've had children - putting them at risk as well.

I'm mad at those around me, for leaving me when I need them.  For not being there for whatever reason.  For not picking up on the fact that I still need so much more than I'm asking for.

I'm mad at God... if there is a God...  For creating a world where 35 year old new fathers can drop dead on a dime.  And for making my family the example that it can happen.

I'm mad at everyone out there who goes about their happy little lives, having the family we so wanted, loving the love I've been denied.  I'm mad at everyone who is given the opportunity to grow old, and then laments at the problems it creates.  Who has a spouse, but complains that they watch too much TV.  Who has more than one child but comments on how much work that can be.

As much as it pains me to say, I'm maddest at those I love the most....  Kurt, for not taking better care of himself.  He couldn't have prevented it, but maybe he could have bought us some time.  For leaving me.  Us.  For dying.  I'm mad.  But I still love him.

Gavin, for complicating my life so much right now.  For making this so much harder than it really is.  For needing so much from me.  For living.  I'm mad.  But I still love him.

And finally the biggie.  I'm mad at myself.  For not getting there in time.  Not trusting my gut and responding sooner.  Not being able to save him.  Not being able to cope since.  I'm mad at the fact that I still cry.  That I still hurt.  I'm mad at me for not being able to do more - then, and since.  I'm mad at me for who I've become.  What I've done.  What I haven't done.  What I think.  Just about everything since that morning, actually...

I'm mad at me for being mad.  For being human, I suppose.  I don't know what I expected.  Just soething else...

They say anger either powers you forward, or consumes you.  With no effective outlet - no one to hear me - I've turned my anger inward on myself.  Anger fuelling anger.  Like a black hole, slowly drawing energy from its surroundings - its eventual implosion on itself.

I know its not positive.  Not the anger management techniques I would teach in an emotions management class.  But when nothing else has worked, what else can you do.....

Too much anger only causes hatred.  At least this way, no one but me gets hurt.  Despite all my anger, the only person I end up actually hating is myself....

The Missing Piece

Image can be found here

That's a how I see my life right now.  If you are a puzzler, you know right away what I mean.  It's the elation of nearing the end of a complex, multi-piece jigsaw puzzle, and the disappointment as you realize you are missing that final piece.  Its no big deal, right?  In the scope of things, what is one piece?  You've put together thousands.  Enough of the pieces are there that you can clearly see the final image anyhow, and it looks pretty darn good.  You should be able to look beyond that one piece that is missing and notice what you have accomplished.  No one else notices or cares.  It's just a puzzle.  Just a piece.

Except that puzzle is my life.  And that piece is my husband....

And some gaps you just can't ignore.....

The Invisible Man...

For so many reasons its been a rough 24 hours.  Some you would understand.  Some you wouldn't.  And none of them I care to relive.  ButI 'm feeling sorry for myself right now, so please humour me....

Whether people admit it or not, we all want to make some sort of imprint on the world.  Or most of us do any way.  I know I do.  Not our little corner of it... but the larger world in general.  If nothing else, we want to make a big enough imprint that we are noticed, not ignored.  And remembered, not forgotten.

Recently, I posted a saying on Facebook....

One person replied.  Just one.  And I've never even met her.  Which to me, means one of two things... Either no one reads my Facebook anymore, or no one would notice if I was gone.  I believe its the latter...

Lets look at a scenario - a street falls off the face of the Earth tomorrow.  It happens to be the one I live on.  How long would it take you to realize?  Even if the street's name was posted, would you put two and two together and really notice I was gone?  How many of you would be affected?  And I don't mean oh, that's too bad... shed a few tears affected.  I mean really affected.  Like things won't continue as normal - or at least that it would take time until they did.  I'm guessing no one.  Gavin for sure - if he's lucky enough not to be in the house at the same time - but other than that, not many.  My parents maybe... Kurt would have known right away.  But today, my life only really matters to a two-year old...

I've become invisible.  Or so it feels, anyway.  Walking through the malls at Christmas time was an interesting experience.  It really felt like no one else could see me... that I could pass through them, or they through me.  Like there was a shield dividing my world from theirs.  Like I was watching a movie play out around me...  It was as though I didn't really exist.  That feeling continues to this day.  There's Gavin and me... and then there's everyone and everything else.  Out there somewhere.  Just beyond my reach.

Gavin's in bed.  Asleep.  If I were to drop dead right now, no one would notice for hours.  Kurt lay dead for 45 minutes before I knew... this would be much longer.  Hours for sure.  Maybe even days.  No one would hear my two year old's cries.  No one would even notice that I was gone.  Or care.  Life would just go on...

I notice the same with Kurt's life and legacy.  How no one speaks his name.  Or wants to when I do.  How no one but me and Gavin seems to give him a passing glance...  Its a humbling, but rather depressing moment when you realize that the mark you have worked so hard to leave not only on the greater world but on your little corner of it is written in washable ink... erased maybe before your time. Maybe before you are gone....

Or maybe no one read it in the first place....

Two Steps Behind....

Image: vorakorn kanokpipat / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Everyone says you have to keep moving forward.  Keep your eye on the prize and look to the future, without more than a passing glance to the past.  You can change your future with what you do today.  Your past is written.  Those of us who have such a large part of us in the past know that's not always so easy....

I admit I spend a lot of my days in the past.  In my alone time, when Gavin is safely tucked in bed, the past is where you can find me.  Some of this is beyond my control.  I still have awful flashbacks regarding the moments before, during, and after Kurt's death.  There's a two and a half hour period which is engraved in my mind with the most permanent of pens, that I can't escape even when I want to.  The smallest of triggers sends me back to a place where I can feel, see, hear, and re-experience everything.  Its not a journey into the past I want to take.  But its one my mind still takes me on multiple times daily.  

But there are pleasant forays into yesterday as well.  Memories of times gone by, days that will never be played out in exactly the same manner.  Its often in looking back that I first start to cry, but in my tears also find reasons to smile.  Significant life-changing moments that can never be erased.  And even more so, the little things I don't want to.  They way he looked at me.  The smell of his cologne.  The feeling of my fingers running through his hair.  The sound of his voice as he said my name.  Things I can only have by looking behind.

Yes, I can admit it.  Despite everyone's best intentions, I still find much more comfort looking backwards rather than forwards, to an uncertain, unexpected, and unwanted future...

But looking behind doesn't just mean I spend my days enveloped in memories.  I look behind me in the physical sense as well.  Regularly.  Hourly.  A lot.  

The most important part of Kurt's memorial service was, for me, the music.  Music was a huge part of who he was.  He in many way defined himself through the songs he listened to.  So in looking for music for the service, I wanted songs that defined him - defined us - and spoke to his life.  I don't remember a lot about the service.  But I remember the music.  And more specifically, I remember the first notes of the final song.  "Two Steps Behind" by Deff Leppard.

Where ever you go, I'll be two steps behind you.  Where ever you are, I'll be there to remind you... that it only takes a minute of your precious time... to turn around.  I'll be two steps behind you.

I don't know if Kurt really is two steps behind me, but when I need to find him the most, that's where I turn.  When I have that feeling that someone is watching me, I first look behind.  When my hairs stand on end and I get the feeling of uneasiness, I look behind.  When i'm talking to him, asking him where he is or what I should do, I look behind.  When the biting winter wind is forming ice crystals on my face, I turn behind.  When i'm driving, and feel the tears welling in my eyes, I cast a glance in the rear view mirror.  When I'm alone, and asking for a sign, I look behind.    Even as I'm typing this, I throw a glance over my right shoulder.  I'm always looking back.  I don't know what I expect to see.  A blowing branch as his spirit passes by.  A fading footstep.  A shadow.  A sign of presence, rather than absence.  Just something to say "I am here...."

I hope he's there, following me.  Giving me enough distance to forge my own path, but remaining close enough to catch me when I fall.  Always having my back, ready to intervene if I need him.  If we can't walk through life hand in hand, I really hope he is only two steps behind......

Today marks the first of the year.  A chance to leave behind the past and look forward to the future.  I'm moving ahead.  But with eyes cast behind....