Out With the Old...

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Out with the old, and in with the new.  That's what people are saying, anyhow.  

New Years Eve has never been a big deal to me.  Even as a young adult, the liveliest I got was a good board game and fireworks with friends.  I was always in bed shortly after midnight.  It just made more sense to start the next day off without a hangover - made it easier to remember to switch calendars that way.  But one thing I always had was company.  It was a chance to spend time with friends.  To close out the holiday season with one last toast to the good life, one last glass of egg nog.  

A chance to put behind the past, and look forward to the future - be it the next day, week, month, or year - with excitement.

There's no more excitement in my house.  Tomorrow brings more of the same.  A monotony of uncertainty and sadness which I can't seem to shake.  Days of obligation, rather than opportunity.  For the first time in my life, I'll see the new year in alone.  I'll fall asleep in my bed before midnight alone.  I'll wake up the next day alone.  And nothing will have changed.

They say the future is what you make of it.  An unwritten slate, ready for your mark.  Life really is the ultimate choose your own adventure story.  Looking back over the year that was, it hasn't all been bad.  moments of joy have punctuated the darkness.  Some have been fleeting.  Some have lasted a little longer.  But I find solace in the fact that they are there at all, and thank Gavin as more often than not he has been my sunbeam.

I've never made huge resolutions.  Mostly because I knew I wouldn't keep them.  This year will be no different, but for different reasons.  Why make year-long goals when a year is promised to no one?  Too much can change in the blink of an eye to say you will do this or that for an entire twelve month stretch.  Its not only in surviving grief that I have learned the benefits of living in the moment, but also in living life.  Nothing but now is a given.  This may be my last New Years.  Or Gavin's. Or yours. So my promises are simple.  Make Gavin a batch of cookies every weekend possible.  Spend as much time as I can with him, not watching him.  And to keep putting one foot in front of the other so long as I am able.  And hopefully while this is happening, the light will continue to increase, and my eternal night may find moments of dawn....

More than anything, I wish Kurt could come with me into the new day, the new year.  In the physical sense.  His being, not his memory.  But even as I still fight it with every fibre in my being, I know this is not possible.  2011 marked the first complete year that he did not see, but not the last.  So I gather what I can of him, surround myself with my memories, his legacy in our son, and his love, and put one more foot forward into tomorrow, bringing him with me as best I can.  That's all I can do.  One step at a time completes the marathon.

I have to add that, as I typed these last few words, Gavin - who has been sitting on my lap alternating between his police car and my IPAD as I write - turned around, took off my glasses, and said "Mommy, I Love You" as he tried to wipe away the tears.  We won't be happy all the time.  Many more tears will fall.  There's a lot more darkness before I find the light.  The new may be coming, but I refuse to see the old go completely.  Some things may be put behind you, but they are never really gone away....

Whatever your definition of a happy new year is, I wish that to you.  It won't be perfect, but make every moment count the best that you can....  We use today as a reason to look to the future.  But the present is all we have....

Chance Encounters On The Side of A Road

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I've had a chance encounter at the back of a crowded A&W on my mind a lot over the past couple of days....

Driving back from my parents place to our place, Gavin and I stopped at the A&W.  If you know the route, you know the one I'm talking about.  Its the half way mark in a small community, and depending on the time of day is either empty or full of truckers and farmers who all know each other.  Today was something of an anomaly.  It was full, but of other people on the same holiday route - a pilgrimage of sorts.  Gavin and I took our table, back in the corner, and as he proceeded to eat his cheeseburger I caught wind of the conversation going on between the two tables next to me.  The woman to my left was on her way home after visiting her grandkids.  She was alone.

After her conversation friends had packed up to hit the roads, she turned and started talking to me.  Or rather talking to Gavin until his dwindling cheeseburger diverted his attention back to the important things at hand.  Thats when she talked to me.  Somehow we got onto the topic of our dogs anxiously awaiting our return in their respective vehicles.  She had purchased her dog as a companion after her husband fell ill and died.  In October of last year.

I don't know why I told her, why I shared the intimate with a complete stranger, but I revealed that Gavin's daddy had died in August of the same year.  She smiled the smile.  Its a look that comes from understanding.  Then she said "I'm sorry.  I thought so."  I must have looked surprised, as she continued, pointing out that I was young, traveling with a small child alone over the holidays, and wearing wedding rings.  She then stated that she had noticed his ring around my neck.  Kurt's wedding ring has been hanging there, close to my heart, since the day I retrieved it from the bedroom nightstand.  She then proceeded to pull her own silver chain out from under her shirt.  A similar sized ring. A dog tag of sorts, identifying our relationship to each other.  The words that followed were something only someone who really understands would say, especially nearly a year and a half later.  "It doesn't get easier."  I shook my head.  "No, it doesn't.  Not really."  She continued with "Its different though.  Not easier.  But different."  I nodded.  Small talk followed, but our conversation didn't go much further than that.  There was nothing else to say.  But as she departed, she wished me the best.  And she didn't mean just on the travels ahead...  All I could do was wish her the same.

We're all traveling our own separate roads, each of us marching to the sound of our own drum - our heart beating in time with our own rhythms.  But even on the loneliest and most desolate of roads - like the one I feel I am on today - there are intersections, places where people come and go from our lives.  Kurt and I were a double highway, our roads running parallel and merging as one.  His exit ramp just came sooner... far too soon.  But even as my road continues on, intersections such as this - brief encounters be it from strangers or friends - serve to remind me that there are similar roads running near me, in my blind-spot, hidden.  Far too many similar roads, actually.  I'm not as alone as I feel

I hope that nameless woman is well today.  That the upcoming year treats her better than the last couple have.  Really, that's all I can hope for us all.....

Deep Fried Envy

He got her a deep fryer.  Can you believe that with everything that has gone on over the past couple of days, the biggest lasting trigger has been the image of my baby sister opening a gift from her man.  A stainless steel deep fryer, that she didn't want as much as him.  THAT is what I'll remember most from this past holiday season.

Once again, it should have been me.  Kurt wanted a deep fryer.  It must be a man thing.  He looked at them, told me we should get one.  And I kept telling him if he wanted it, he would have to buy it and learn to use it.  And I'm sure he was going to.  If he had survived, if the hand of fate had been more forgiving, that would have been me last year, opening a large poorly wrapped gift to yet another bulky kitchen appliance I never intended to use.  It should have been me.  So when once again I saw my younger sister blissfully and innocently reliving those events which should have been mind, it was another slap across the face.  Another reminder that she has been blessed with something that I have not.  Or at least have no longer.  It seems as though there is always something.  Some innocuous event just waiting to jump up and rub my reality in my face.  They say one should not covet your neighbours wife, or horse, or....  Do they say anything about a deep fryer...  Because damn I wish that was mine.

I can`t get that deep fryer out of my mind.  I don`t know whether to shake my head at the similarities and laugh, or bury my head in my hands and cry.  As I`ve done so many times before, simultaneously I`ll do both.  Then go ahead and start clearing a place on my kitchen counter.  In his memory, I have a deep fryer to buy.  Can`t be shown up by my sister, after all....

Just Another Day....

Christmas Day.  People keep reminding me that its just another day.  And they are right.

It falls on a Sunday this year.  Just like 51 other days this year. 

Its the 25th of the month.  Just like 11 other days this year.

Its a day in December.  Just like 30 other days this year.

On this day, December 25th 2011, a baby will be born.  A man will die.  There will be smiles, laughter, and yes, even tears.  Jusat like the other 364 days that surround it.  It really is just another day.

And yet its not the same.  Its the only 24 hour period that comes with a six-week buildup.  That has thousands of songs written about it.  That is advertised nonstop.  That is a multi-million dollar commercial enterprise.  That has the expectation of perfection.  It evokes strong emotions.  It brings out the best in people, yes... but also brings out the worst in many.  December 25 may be just another day - but it is a unique one. 

So how do I feel as this day draws to a close?  Honestly, much like I feel on any other day.  Just maybe a little bit more.  I saw this not so ordinary ordinary day unfold in the eyes of a child.  Laughter.  Excitement.  Anticipation.  And I did so alone.  The only other person to whom Gavin means as much as myself was not standing beside me.  Was he here?  Perhaps.  Could he see it?  I hope so.  But that veil which keeps our worlds apart stood firm, and I could not see or feel him. 

He should have been beside me, on this day - just like the other 364 days this year.  And so while I am happy for what I have, I shed a silent tear as the day draws to a close for what I am missing - just like the other 364 days this year.

I've said it before.  I love him.  I miss him.  And I wish I could have shared today with him.  I should have been able to share today with him.  And he with us.  Just like the other 364 days this year. 

Maybe Christmas isn't all that different from every other day after all.....

No place like home

When I moved to this city, I was leaving home.  Home... the place where I grew up.  Home... the place where my family lived.  Home... the place I planned to return to.  I always called my hometown home.  Every trip to my parents was a homecoming.  Kurt hated it.  He always told me that our house, in our city, was home.  I never felt it.  Until the week after we said our final goodbyes.  After the funeral, I returned home to the safety of my parents for a week.  It could have been longer.  But after seven days, I had an urge I had never felt so strongly before.  An urge to go home.  To our house.  The place we had built our lives.  The house we had bought together.  That was where I needed to be.  Where I belonged.

I still live in that house.  Since Kurt died its seen its share of tears, but also laughter.  Its the only house our baby has known.  But its not the same.  Its four walls.  It isn't home.  Honestly, I don't know what is.  In many ways, I feel homeless.  Yes, I have a house.  But something is missing.  Our house is not my home. I'm heading back to my hometown for the holidays tomorrow.  I'll be home for Christmas. But that's not my home either.  Its kinda like being caught between two worlds - one foot in each, but belonging really to neither.

They say home is where your heart is.  If that's the case, I suppose I really live in a small glass case, in the Columbarium where Kurt now rests.  I left a large part of my heart there that day.  So I wander between locations, feeling like a vagrant with nowhere to really hang my hat.  Will I stay in this house?  Another house?  In this city? My hometown? Or somewhere altogether new?  Today I really don't know.  Without him none of them feel right.  But wherever I am I'll do my best to make my house a home for Gavin and I, and hopefully one day I will figure out where I belong.  That place where I again feel complete.  Where I can walk in and announce "Honey, I'm home..."

The Ties That Bind

I did something people told me never to do today.  While cleaning up my Facebook Timeline, I journey back to August 11, 2010 and took a moment there to pause and reflect.  I so clearly remember that moment.  Sitting at the computer, my uncle downstairs waiting for me.  I was gathering a few things for Gavin to get us through the day before leaving the house for the first time not as a wife, but a widow.  And I felt the need to let the world know something... I didn't know what.  But I needed to tell everyone I was here.  "Chrystal Wigton is numb.  And alone... I love you, Kurtie."  I don't have to look back to remember what words I typed.  That's just one of those things I don't forget.  How I felt on my wedding day.  Where I was September 11.  The time of birth and birthweight of Gavin.  And my first facebook status after Kurt was gone...

Its not easy going back there - seeing those moments recorded online for posterity.  The outpouring of support in the moments that followed.  I clung to that support for days on end, spending hours at the computer just reading the comments and messages people had sent.  It made me feel just a little less alone.  But things have changed.  Time has marched on.  So many of those people who wrote that they would always be there for Gavin and I have not spoken to me since the funeral, or at least in the past 6 months.  Many have dropped even their facebook connections, unable or unwilling to see my sadness through.  I now understand that sometimes "We're there for you" simply means "I don't know what to do or say".  I'll never tell someone who just lost a loved one I am there.  I will show it.  Because I know what the difference is, and how hollow those words sound when you realize they are just that - words.  There are people in my life today.  A select few I see regularly.  Even more with whom I can share.  But most of those people did not even know me then.  They were not connected enough to read that empty status sent out as a cry to the world.  Many, in one way or another, I've met through tragedy.  Brought together through my suffering, or their own.  Some virtual.  Some living next door.  Its a different world I surround myself with.  In happy times and in sad.  But I guess that makes sense.  They say tragedy changes you.  I'm still not sure how this has changed me - I'm still trying to find the me hidden beneath layers of complex intense emotions.  But I know under the mask I wear I'm different.  A different form of the same person....

Some things haven't changed however.  I still often feel numb.  I still often feel alone.  And I still love Kurtie.  And part of me longs for those connections of yesterday.  Part of me hopes those people will read this, see themselves in it, and drop a line, even if just to say Hi.  They are the ties that bind me to my past... woven into pleasant memories of me, him, and us.  They represent a part of my life I don't want to lose completely.  A me I don't want to forget.  The "me" that formed "us".  

I'm here and waiting.....

The Fog

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Walking through a Fog - that's the way she saw herself. Never really sure of where she was, or what she was doing, only certain that the feeling deep within would not go away. It all started when he passed away. At least she thought that was when it started - she couldn't really remember the day. Come to think of it, she couldn't really remember him either; there were days she wasn't sure if he - or she - had ever existed at all. But she knew the Fog was real. It was surrounding her, suffocating her. And every time she thought she had found the exit, some force seemed to hold her in, pushing her back into the Fog's vortex. Maybe there really was no exit; maybe she was destined to remain encapsulated forever. Yet she knew a better thing existed outside the Fog. There had to be something else, for everyone around her seemed oblivious to the Fog. So she continued to struggle what seemed an unending battle. Then again, maybe everyone else was trapped in his or her own Fog, showing a brave face but inwardly as clouded and confused as her. Maybe she was not the only one, like she so often thought. She could not be sure. Then again, she was no longer sure of anything.

Fog is funny, especially the Fog she was trapped in. She could see the sun, and knew it was out there, but could never really feel it. She couldn't see the Fog, but knew it was there; she could feel it. Things that were, weren't. Things that weren't, were. Just like the mirages one sees in the desert as they begin to fade away. Was it the happiness outside or the misery within that was the mirage? Which was real - the sun or the Fog?

She had goals. She knew what she wanted, what she thought would be strong enough to counter the Fog's grip on her. She knew what it would take to again make her happy. Then again, maybe they were only dreams. Goals are achievable desires; dreams are created fantasies. The lines were beginning to fade; she was no longer sure which was which.

It was lonely in the Fog. Every time she tried to reach out, the power of the Fog pulled her back. Although she yearned for companionship, although she yearned to tell the stories which came from within, the Fog seemed to have taken her voice. When she spoke, it was not her speaking, but the Fog. She said only what the Fog wanted the outside world to know. She was no longer in control.

She could not remember the last time she laughed, and actually felt happy. She could not remember the last time she smiled without actually making an effort to do so. She did them, but only to fool others. Only because she preferred that her Fog remained invisible. Or maybe only because the Fog preferred to exist that way. She could, however, remember the last time she cried; she was crying now. She did that all the time, if not tears on the outside, then tears within. Fog requires a damp environment to thrive. It therefore needed her tears. It needed her tears on the outside to surround her. It needed her tears on the inside to engulf her. She cried because she was unhappy living in the Fog. But her tears only made the Fog grow stronger, and made her feel more trapped.

There had been a time when she had thought the Fog would not last forever. She had denied its existence, chose to ignore its hold. But in doing so now she realized she had only allowed it to grow stronger. She was not sure if there was a way to escape the Fog, but she knew she would keep trying. At one time she had thought that the Fog's power might be lifted if she were no longer. She had thought about ceasing sooner, in an act of defiance, to prove to the Fog that she still had some control. But now she realized that the Fog, too, was controlling that. She felt too powerless, too afraid, to even control the beating of her own heart. So in a reluctant acceptance, she would continue to face what appeared to be the exit. And perhaps someday she would reach the elusive exit to the Fog - the exit to the world she still believed existed outside. The world she saw, but could not touch. And if she could not find the exit, she knew she would then die trying. Someday she would become tired of fighting, let the Fog engulf her completely, and she would simply fade away. Perhaps the Fog would see that as a victory, for it would have finally taken everything that was once her. But she knew that it would be a victory for herself too. That was the only thing she knew for certain. When the Fog lifted, and she was no more, she would finally once again be free.

Thank You

This showed up unannounced in my mailbox this afternoon.  Nice to know I'm not the only one thinking of him... it often feels like I'm the only one who still remembers.  To whomever thought enough of us - and him -  to leave it behind... Thank You :)

The It Factor

Do you remember the movie City Slickers?  Billy Crystal and gang running around trying to pretend they were cowboys?  Looking for the meaning of life in the midst of a mid-life crisis.  The search for that "one thing".  The raison d'etre, as you would have it.

Well, I'm in my mid-life crisis.  I was thrown into it, far before I was ready.  Just as my life was beginning.  But here I am....  My one thing has changed through the years.  Let me introduce you to my most recent one:

He stands approximately three feet tall.  His favourite words are "I do it" and "No".  He loves Wiggles and Thomas the Train.  And cheese.  Lots of cheese.  And he is my reason for breathing.  I suppose I was one of the lucky ones.  When Kurt died I couldn't throw myself off a cliff.  I couldn't crawl into bed and never get out.  Trust me, I tried.  But instead there were diapers to change, bottles to make, and toes to tickle.  Instead of the silence there were coos and, with time, words.  Instead of the emptiness there was him.  Raising Gavin on my own hasn't been easy.  In fact, aside from burying my husband it may be the hardest thing I have ever done.  But I am doing it.  I said early on that taking care of him would take care of me.  So far, that is the case.  And as Gavin grows, so does the bond between us.  As much as I try to be strong for him, I always know there is someone to wipe my tears when i cry... even if he doesn't understand them.

I won't say its the perfect solution.  He's a bittersweet reminder of what I had - and what I lost.  Gavin cramps my grief.  He makes it hard to cry when i need to cry.  Hard to address my own needs when he is rather demanding.  In fact in many ways because of him my grief has intensified.  I'm not only grieving my losses... I'm grieving the relationships my son has been deprived of.  The father-son things he will never have.   I worry constantly that my own issues will affect the man he is to become.  But amongst all that, I am proud of the boy who is rising from our family's ashes.  I would give anything on this earth to have Kurtis back with us... except perhaps the boy our baby has become.  He is so much like his daddy in many ways.  And while I'm sure many of these will change as he grows older and becomes his own person - his daddy's short influence waning on his hopefully long and happy life - he will always carry a little of his dad within.  And I will continue to do everything to raise that little man in a manner that is true to both his parents.  I hope I make his daddy proud.  I'm sure Gavin will.  

He already does.

Two Tears

Theres two tears upon my pillow
Growing larger every night.
Tears that fall though everyone else seems to think that I'm alright.

There's two tears upon my pillow
Growing larger every day.
Tears that fall though everyone else seems to think that I'm okay.

I don't sleep well at night time
And here's the reason why:
I find it much too hard to sleep when
Instead I want to
Cry.

Those tears upon my pillow
They'll some day merge to one.
But when I do not really know.
Only when the pain is done.

So next time you enter my bedroom
And stand by my pillow case,
Please do your best to overlook the smile on my face.

Instead stare at the pillowcase
And find those water stains.
Because through their size is the only way
That you'll ever know
My pain....

I recently rediscovered this in a pile of old school work.  I wrote this poem in sixth grade.  1989.  I was 11.  A sign of things to come???

Not so sweet 16

Sixteen months ago today I was thrown onto a path I never imagined I'd walk.  I became the "it could always be worse" example.  Life as I know it turned upside down.  Sixteen months ago today Kurt died.

When I first had Gavin, everyone warned me how fast time would go when you had children.  What no one mentioned is how much faster they would go when your spouse dies.  It still seems like yesterday that he was beside me, walking into that bathroom for the last time.  And yet it seems like its been a lifetime since I felt him, heard him.  Since he was here.

A lot has changed in the past sixteen months.  I no longer sob uncontrollably every night - now its just a few silent tears as my head hits the pillow.  I no longer sleep in his shorts and t-shirts - now its just his shirts.  I no longer have a picture of him in his place in the bed - now I just kiss the photo of him on the wall.  I no longer look at every city bus as it passes - now its every second or third.  I no longer expect him to come walking through the door - now I just wish beyond all wishes that he would.  And I no longer ask him nightly to come and get me - now I just ask him to visit.  But if he asked, I would still follow.  Some things haven't changed, however.  I still think of him every second of every minute of every hour. I still miss him beyond words.  I still cry more than I smile.  And when I do smile, I'm still crying inside.  I still wear my wedding rings proudly.  I still do not consider myself his widow - I am still his wife.  And I still love him with all my heart.

I don't know where I am in this journey.  When I was thrown on this road, no one thought to give me a road map.  I'm still in a dark tunnel, with no end in site.  Hanging by a rope most days over what seems to be a bottomless pit.  In the valley of the tallest mountain.  In other words, I suspect I'm still closer to the beginning than I am the end.  But I know I'm not on the starting line.  I suppose I should look back with pride on what I have done.  But in reality, I spend more time looking ahead with trepidation and fear.  Life... this life... our life is not a journey I ever wanted to walk alone...

I miss you Kurtis.  I love you.  And as always, I am still, and always will be Always Yours.

Where Are You Christmas?

A lot of the blogs I follow in the Widow communities are dealing with this very issue right now.  The holidays.  Finding the "Merry" in Merry Christmas and the "Happy" in Happy Holidays.  When half of you is missing, its not as easy as it seems.  I don't even remember last Christmas.  I remember crying when Gavin got his picture taken with Santa.  I remember crying at church Christmas eve during Silent Night.  But otherwise, its all just a blur.  The ornaments stayed tucked away.  There was no tree.  And somehow I got through.

This year I vowed it would be different.  For Gavin's sake, I vowed to make it a Christmas just like Kurt and I had wanted it to be... minus Kurt, that is.  So out we went to the mall to see Santa.  Out came the tree.  Christmas cards were mailed.  We'll decorate the cookies, sing the carols,and do what every other "family" does.  And I'm trying hard to see it through the eyes of a two year old.... Gavin is caught up in it all.  I should be smiling.

  

But inside my heart is breaking.  I want nothing more than to run away, hide away, and not come out until  those cheerful carols, happy Ho Ho Hos, and smiling perfect family images are long gone.  I used to love Christmas.  Used to go all out.  Couldn't wait for the first to turn on the lights and dig into the advent calendars.  Now its just a reminder of what I don't have in my life.  A reminder that is all encompassing for two whole damn months.  Its too bad that Santa doesn't grant the wishes of adults.  Because I only have one Christmas wish....

Popping the Big Questions

Its coming.  I can see it when I watch Gavin.  He knows something is different.  He sees others with their daddies.  He has friends who have daddies.  And he doesn't.  Yes, he has pictures.  He has videos, which he asks to watch all the time.  But there's no person behind the images, not like mommy.  He's getting sensitive to mommy's tears.  And he acts differently around men.  And he's taken a fascination with his dad.  Which leads me to believe that the two-year old versions of the "heavy" question aren't far behind: "Who is my daddy?"  "Where is Daddy?"  "Why did Daddy die?" "Can I see him?" "Will I die too?"  I really don't know what I'll say.  How I'll be able to explain things that I myself don't understand.   How with my wavering faith I'll be able to give explanations that offer any form of comfort.  And how I'll be able to hold it all together when the time comes.  I cry just thinking about it.  Of the hard lessons in life my innocent little man will be forced to understand all too soon.  How unfair the whole situation is - especially for him.  I know I won't have the right answers.  I just hope the ones I do have are enough.  They don't cover this talk in any of the What To Expect books....

Why couldn't our first heavy conversation have been about the birds and the bees?

Lets Start at the Very Beginning...

I'm Chrystal.  He's Gavin.  My pride and joy.  My little boy.  Our son.  And he was Kurtis.  The love of my life.  My soul mate and best friend.  Gavin's daddy.  My husband.

I'm alive.  Gavin is alive.  Kurtis died very suddenly nearly sixteen months ago.  Not so sweet sixteen.  He lives on in us.  Some day I'll share with the world how he died.  Some day I'll tell the story I've been keeping secret.  But right now all anyone needs to know is that he was here.  And now he's not.  There was no chance to say goodbye.  And I'm trying  - for Gavin's sake - to live on without him.  Some days that's possible.  Some days that's impossible.  Some days are easier than others.  There has yet to be a day that is easy.

And that's the beginning.  The beginning of us without him.  The beginning of this new life of living.  The beginning of a new me.  Maybe the process started sixteen months ago.  But today is the beginning of a new day.  And that beginning seems like as good a place as any to start.....