Here's to the New Year...

Image Can Be Found Here....

“Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right.” ~ Oprah Winfrey

And so here we are again. Another full revolution of the sun has happened. Another year come and gone. Another complete calendar year Kurt was not here to experience, to see.

As I look back on the year that was, I see a lot of blank spots, big holes where he should have been. But I also see a certain three-year old boy and that boy's mom who are, together, starting to work around those spots. Not fill them - for he cannot be filled, cannot be forgotten, cannot be replaced - but rather embrace them. Work around them.  Work with them.  Make those blank spots a part of the picture, rather than the focus of the image.

In other words, I see progress. Some days a lot. Other days, very little. In some aspects leaps and bounds. In other, barely a step. But its there. Its happening.  My grief journey and my life journey are, little by little, redefining themselves and blending into one.

As Homeland said in their song, "Time changes everything, life must go on..."  It is said the only constant in this world is change. And Gavin and I, our lives are a-changing. Pushed forward if by nothing else but inertia, today becomes tomorrow, and before you know it, tomorrow becomes next year.

I miss Kurt. Immensely. I know Gavin does too - albeit in a different and maybe not as raw a manner. And deep down, my longing for him, my longing to be with him, my longing in general is still as strong as ever. As is my love.

I want to say, as I reflect on the year that was, that I see Kurt in the spaces of our family, our lives. I don't. Not really.  I still wrestle with the desire for him to exist on some level, and the possibility that I may be completely wrong. And while I do believe I have felt him, I don't know if that was really him, or me simply feeling me wishing I could feel him. Wishing so hard that it feels like its true...

No. Kurt was not there. Kurt will never again be there. But as the days pass and I see more and more of him in Gavin and, yes, in me too, I realize that parts of him will, in fact, live on forever. When you mix salt and pepper together, you can never completely isolate and separate the substances.  So it was, it is, with him and I......

And in that way, part of me died that day. And part of him lives on right now.

And so another day, another month, another year will dawn. And he will not be here to see it. And yet, he will. And it is my job to carry forward, making sure that as much of him as possible is carried forward in our daily lives.  I am the torch. And he is the flame.

I don't make resolutions any more. I never really did, but now even less than ever. Because its rather futile, presumptuous even, to pledge what you will do over the course of the year when nothing more than this very instant is guaranteed, is promised, is in your control. But I can make some pledges on what I will do, to the best of my ability, with the time I am given.  However much that is...

I will try.  I will live. I will give to Gavin all I can give of myself, my time, remembering that I am human. I will beg for help.  I will make mistakes. I will fail. I will succeed.  I will laugh. I will cry. I will probably ask more than once for permission to give up. I will question why I am still here. I will beg for permission to join him. I will shake my fists at scream at the reality I have been given.  Then I will pick myself up and go about that reality the only way I know how.  I will miss Kurt. I will love Kurt. I will love Gavin. I will try to at least like myself.  I will be.

 And that will be enough.

I will not promise that 2013 will be the best year ever. But I will try, to the best of my ability, to make it a little better than the last one. And hopefully, if I am able, will be able to stand at the same place at this time next year, and say that I have succeeded, then proceed to do the whole thing again.....

"Here's to the New Year. May she be a damned sight better that the old one, and may we all be home before she's over." ~Col. Potter MASH - "A War For All Seasons".

Long Hard Road

Image can be found here...

Six hundred kilometers stretch between where I am and where I am headed.  A week ago I drove those kilometers willingly, shedding a little of the every day stress, everyday sorrow, and every day realities as I went.  Tomorrow I will retrace my steps as I head back home.

And along the way, pick up everything I so willingly cast off.

Its the same every time.

Getting away is nice.  Being able, even for just a few days, to not be the only one.  To forget I am the only one.  To let someone else cook.  Just once.  To let someone else answer Gavin's call.  Just once.  To sit on the couch after he goes to bed and have a real conversation about real issues.  To hear another adult voice coming from a real person. 

To feel a little less isolated.  A little less alone.

But the problem about going away is you can't go away forever.  Eventually you have to return.  And when you do, those things that seemed hard become even more difficult.  Unbearable even.  Until I breathe, accept, and adjust.  And start all over again. 

On my own.

Its the same every time....

It never gets easier pulling up to a dark, empty house.  Walking in alone.  You get used to it.  You do it because you have to.  But anyone who says it must get easier has a family to come home to.  Someone waiting for them, or someone with them....

I tried to tell my parents today what it felt like.  To talk - because that's something else I never get the opportunity to do.  My mom's response was to "look on the bright side.  At least you have Gavin."  And I know she's not the only one thinking it.  Which further proves that she - and so many others out there - don't know what its like to be really alone.  Gavin cannot give me what my husband provided.  He cannot fill that space in the house.  It would be unfair to ask him to try.  And impossible to do.  I "look on the bright side" daily - even if it doesn't seem like it.  Its that bright side that wills me to get up every morning and face another day.  But when one light bulb permanently burns out, the room is forever dimmed, even in its brightest moments.  There are always shadows....

And so I will drive that road tomorrow, returning to my reality.  Gavin will be in the back seat, but I will be going it alone.  No co-pilot, just a passenger.  And with every turn of the odometer I will pick back up a little of that burden, for that is the price I pay to have a bright side at all.  And I do so willingly.  But not happily.

In reality, the next six hundred kilometers are easy to travel.  Its the road that awaits me at the other end - the one that stretches out beyond that I dread...

And So This Is Christmas....

Christmas has come, and Christmas is soon to be gone.  Looking back, at this time last year I blogged about how Christmas was just another day.  I was right.  And I was wrong.  Its not.  It can't be.

This year, it did seem a little easier.  I smiled more.  I laughed easier.  I attribute that in part to simple time.  This is my third Christmas without Kurtis.  There's not a lot of thoughts, memories. or emotions that will sneak up on me any longer.  I know what I will think.  What I will miss.  What will bring a tear to my eye or a smile to my mouth.  And I'm prepared to let them come.

Time has done something else, though, as well.  It has thickened my skin a lot - for the good and for the bad.  The little triggers that used to really get to me don't penetrate beyond my skin any longer.  They don't reach my heart.  Its an amour I have created out of necessity, to function in a world that has no time for excessive drawn out emotions.  And it seem to be working well.  And on the flip side, those emotions that do escape from my heart don't always pass to the outside.  I can be heart broken, sad, and aching inside.  But on the outside smiling and dry eyed.  Again, its a protection mechanism.  For me and those around me.

And it seems to be working.

I also attribute the differences to Gavin.  Its hard to be sad when you are caught up in the midst of three-year old wonder, understanding what is happening for really the first time.  Its been a long time since there has been a child in the house on Christmas morning.  I forgot what that was like....

But now, as the lights on the tree are extinguished, as people retreat to their own separate quarters, and as Gavin blissfully sleeps, I find my armour coming off, flaking away in pieces.  Revealing to me, and only me, what lays beneath.

This is the first time today I have et my true emotions show - all of them.

It still hurts.  I still miss him.  I still wish more than anything that he was here, to share this with me and our son.  I can't help but think back to that first family Christmas - our only family Christmas.  Our only Christmas in our house.  That was the perfect holiday.  The image of Christmas cards.  And it wasn't because of where we were.  Or what we did.  I can't even really remember many of the finer details.

It was because we were together.

And that will never happen again....

Family is still an integral part of the holidays.  And as my parents sleep across the hall, and my sister and her partner sleep down below, I look over at the cold lonely bed, and am faced with the fact that I, again, will sleep alone.

No decked halls, no twinkling lights, no wrapped gifts, no stuffed birds will change that.  That's the way it will always be.

Christmas will never be the same.  It will never be picture perfect.  It will never be as I want, as I hope. As I need.

It will be okay.  It will be enjoyable.  We will get through.  But it will not be right.

Because he will not be there.....

You take the good with the bad.  You make the best of what you have.  I'll take the magic as it comes.  I'll enjoy, and appreciate, the moments that allow me to smile.  But I'll also pause in silent reflection as it comes to a close.  Remembering what was.  What should have been.  What could have been.  And what isn't.

I hope wherever you are, and whomever you are with, that your holidays too had some magic.  Its back to reality tomorrow......

Merry Christmas to all.  And to all, a good night.

Merry Christmas

No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end....
This is my grown up Christmas list

Merry Christmas.

The End Of the World As We Know It....

Image can be found here...

Apparently according to the ancient Mayan calendar, some time in the next 24 hours the world is about to end.  And my first response is that I'm not too sorry to see that happen.  Not my current world, anyway.

As the end of our current civilization is drawing near, it seems a perfect time to look back and reflect.  And look forward, just in case they were wrong.  Do I really want the world to end?  If it does, what will my legacy have been?  What did I do right?  What did I do wrong?  What could I do better?

For the most part, I'm proud of the life I have lived on this world.  If it were to end today, I can't say I have many regrets.  Looking back, there were three things I always wanted.

I wanted to be a wife.  And I was.  Am.  I won the heart of a wonderful man.  I was loved unconditionally.  I had a marriage that I know many could only dream of.  I know I look around today and often consider myself one of the unluckiest persons alive because of the way it ended.  But I also know I am the luckiest.  Because we never grew out of love.  We fulfilled the promises we made on the day I took his name.  We loved until death did us part.  There are so many people who cannot say that is the case....

I wanted to be a mother.  And I am.  Its not always easy, but its the most rewarding thing I have ever done.  I don't know what I expected.  I didn't expect the range of emotions that sometimes come with the job.  But I can say I am so very, very proud of the little man I know I have had a huge hand in raising.  As am much as I dread much of the years to come, I want to see this journey to its end.

I also wanted to be a figure skater....  Okay, two out of three isn't bad.

But would I have lived my life differently had I known it would all come crashing to a halt today.  Or will I live my life differently should I survive to see tomorrow?  I can't really say.  I played the cards I had, in the moment I was given.  I don't think I would change that.  There are some things, however, that I want to do....

I want to love harder, in the moment.  Never let an opportunity go by  to tell the ones I love how much they mean to me.  I don't want to put off the good stuff until tomorrow.  I don't want Gavin to have to wait "until he is older" if we can do it today.  I want to puddle jump first, and do the dishes later.  Because each and very one of our world's could end at any moment.  And I'd rather be found with wet feet from a puddle than wet hands from the sink...

I want to smile at the sunrise.  Dance in the rain.  Laugh when I'm happy.  And even cry when I'm sad.

I want to live.

I've spent a large part of my life planning for the future.  Saving for a rainy day.  Waiting for tomorrow.  The Mayans knew that there would come a time when tomorrow would not come.  I now know it too.

Its a tough pill to swallow.  A hard lesson to learn.  But I want to be able to pack up the sorrow, and use it to push me forward rather than hold me back.

And I want to take skating lessons with Gavin.

No regrets......

Image can be found here...

Roses From Your Rose

Three holiday roses.  Roses from your rose.

One rose for the past, one rose for the present, one rose for the future. 

One rose for me, one rose for Gavin, one rose for Kurt. 

Three holiday roses representing a torrent of tears.  A mountain of memories.  A lifetime of love.

Its not much.  Its not enough.  But its all I can do.

Happy holidays my love.  

I need you.  

I love you.  

I miss you.  

Always.

And I am Always Yours.

You Think You Have Time....

When my husband died at age 35 I saw how close we are to our death.
How we are separated by a second.
How our hearts can beat one moment and stop the next.
Yet we live life as if we will never die.
We live as if we have eternity by our s
ide.
We forget to laugh.
We forget to love.
We forget to breathe.
We live for another day.
For someone else.
For the future.
Even though it might never come.
And we might never get to live.
We forget our mortality.
Today I ask you to remember this is your only day.
This is your only life.
And you deserve to feel alive.

~Christina Rasmussen

Your Dad....

Image can be found here. Copyright Cookie Jar Entertainment

Sitting on the couch early this morning, watching Caillou, Gavin looked over at me very matter of fact and stated “I don’t have a Daddy like Caillou, Mommy.” It hurt to hear those words. And know they are true. He doesn’t. Not the same type of daddy, anyway.

There was so much I wanted to tell my son right there, at that very moment. About the permanence and impermanence of life. About how things can both be and not be at the same time. Things that he would certainly not so fully understand. Things I don’t really understand. But I didn’t. Instead I reminded him that his daddy was dead, that mommy was still here, and that he was loved. The rest will come out when he's ready, in time.

But this is what my heart said. What I wanted to say. The conversation we will someday have:

You are right, Gavin. You don’t have a daddy like you see on TV. Your daddy cannot tickle you, or play with you, or tuck you in at night. He cannot teach you how to ride a bike, drive, shave, or tie a neck tie. He will never again read you a story, never toss you a football or a Frisbee. He will not shake your hand on the day you get married. Your daddy is very, very different from the daddies that your friends all have.

But sweetheart, please don't ever think that you don’t have a dad. Because you do. You always will.

I know your daddy loved you very, very much. He was so proud of his little boy, and couldn’t wait to see you become a little man. He cried the moment he first saw you. He was so happy.

He used to talk about racing remote control cars with you, building model planes and, yes, playing video games. He glowed when he showed you off, and always believed your baby babbles really did mean so much more. He would sing you Twinkle Twinkle Little Star when you could not sleep, and walk around the house holding you in his arms. He would play airplane to get you to eat your carrots, then hold you high in the sky and play airplane again. He would sing “Barbara Ann” and The Adams Family Theme song over again just to hear you say “Ba” and “Da”. He loved your laugh, loved your giggle, and loved your voice.  He called the little faint birthmark on your left leg your only imperfection. You were perfect in his eyes. You were his son.

Your daddy was a kid at heart, who needed a kid of his own to let that part of him come shining through. You were the light of his life. You always made him smile.

So Gavin, even though your daddy is not here, he is still your dad. He always will be. Because he gave you life. And love. Lots, and lots of love in such a very short time. And love lasts so much longer than mommies and daddies. Love like that lasts forever.

I know its tough to watch other children with their daddies, feeling like you don’t have one of your own. But daddy isn’t far away. 

When the monsters come out from under your bed, it is your daddy who frightens them away. When you are alone and feeling scared, your daddy silently wraps his arms around you and keeps you safe. When the wind blows your hair, your daddy is running his fingers through it too. When you have an itch that will not go away, you can be sure your daddy is tickling his little man. When the hairs on your neck stand up straight, when a chill runs down your spine, you will know your daddy has your back. When you feel you cannot go on, when something is too hard, he will help you try one more time. 

Your daddy is your special friend. You can talk to him, and he can hear you even when you don’t say the words out loud. And when you need his advice, and feel something deep inside, that’s your daddy talking back to you. He will guide you, he will teach you, he will protect you, and he will speak to you in ways that neither you nor mommy understand right now. Ways that neither you nor mommy can predict. But when they happen, you will know. Your dad will never leave your side. He will never be far away.

And while I’m sure it feels like something is missing, I want you to remember what you do have. You have an angel, always watching out for you from above. And you also have a mommy who will do anything for you right here on earth. A mommy whose only purpose is you. And only you. Your mommy cannot be your daddy. I will not try to be. But I want you to know that you can come to me whenever, with anything. I will dry your eyes, and kiss the booboos away. I will tie your ties, and cry at your wedding, and many days before... I will tickle you until it hurts to laugh, and at the end of the day tuck you in safe and sound. I will read to you until I can’t read any more. I will throw you the Frisbee, and take that remote control car off my bedroom shelf so we can race it together. 

 And I will talk about your daddy. Answer any questions you have the best way I can. And make sure you know how lucky you were.

And how lucky you are.

Ho Ho Hell

I've been quiet as of late.  Not because I haven't had anything to say, but because I haven't had the energy to find the words to say it.  I'm getting rather disheartened with the reality of the situation.  Becoming complacent.  Believing that this is where I will always be.  And when I get like that, the words on this page just seem empty.  Pointless.  A lot of effort for minimal results.  No one really reads it anyway.  And if they do, they don't really care.  I might as well be talking to the wind....

I shouldn't be surprised this slump is coming on.  The holiday build up is again upon us.  And I'm finding this one harder than last year.  Much harder....

I used to love the holidays.  My mind can easily rewind to those days years ago when my mom and I would spend every weekend out looking at the different ornaments.  The highlight of my year was dressing the tree.  Putting up the lights.  I loved everything Christmas.

Kurt didn't share the same excitement I did.  So I made it my mission to convert him.  To make him love it all as much as I did.  Year after year, I got frustrated as he sat on the couch watching while I decorated the tree alone.  He said h didn't want to do it wrong.  I think it didn't really matter.

And then Gavin came along.

That first Christmas as a family was the holiday of my dreams.  He decorated the tree with me, our infant son watching.  He was actively involved in selected the gifts.  He turned on the Christmas music.  It was the first holiday as a family - a real family.  Just the three of us, alone, in our house.  Starting our new traditions.  It was perfect.

It was our only holiday like that.

Next Christmas, Kurt would be dead.

The joy of the season was shattered along with my heart.  I still love Christmas lights.  I still silently stand in awe at the perfectly decorated Christmas tree.  From a distance.  But to partake in the build-up, the festivities is different.  As Gavin gets older, and gets more excited about the holidays, I know I should too.  Instead, the list of things to do reads to me like a grocery list.  I'll get them done.  I'll feign a smile.  I'll cry an inward tear.  There is no joy in what is happening.  As wonderful as it is to watch my son's face light up - as much as that part still does bring some amount of genuine joy - the activities surrounding the season are chores more so than celebrations.

Buy the gifts.  Check.  Order Christmas cards.  Check.  Picture with Santa.  Check.  Put up the tree.  Check.

Just more obligations - things I must do in my attempt to give Gavin as normal a life as I can.  Things I must do to show the world that life does continue to go on.  Its like the crystal vase that is dropped, shattered, and glued back together.  Parts of it still sparkle.  Its still functional.  But its full brilliance is gone.

Its never the same.....

I'm finding this year bothers me more than the past.  I've been away for the past few weeks, on the other side of the world where, apparently, there are more important things to worry about than flaunting materialistic ambitions in pursuit of the perfect single day.  When I left this country, Halloween was just leaving the shelves.  Trees were popping up in department stores, but for the most part were still undecorated.  Things were still relatively normal.

Returning, I have found myself thrown full force into ho-ho hell.  Christmas is already all over the place.  My facebook feed is full of pictures of trees brightly lit.  Christmas specials are appearing in prime time television.  My house is covered in Christmas lights.  The radio advertises a 24-hour Christmas station.  Santa has arrived in all the malls.  Even though the calendar still reads November, with exactly one month to go, it is everywhere.

I went from none to all overnight.  Thrown into the deep end without a chance to find my life preserver.  And I find myself swimming against the tide in an attempt to catch up....

Don't get me wrong.  I don't expect to hate everything that the next month has to offer.  Gavin's enthusiasm will, I am sure, rub off a little on me.  The one thing certain to make me smile is a smile from my little boy....  But even in those moments of joy, something will be missing.  My perfect holiday will never again be.  Christmas has lost its charm...

I know I should stop reaching back for perfection and try to be happy with what I have been given - cracks and all.   I'm working on it.

Now can someone please pass me the crazy glue......

Through The Eyes of a Child

My son is grieving.

I don’t talk a lot about Gavin’s journey. In part, because I don’t really understand it. He was 10 months and 4 days old the day his daddy died. I don’t think that the three year old boy he has grown in to remembers much about those first ten months. Or the man who loved him more than anything in this world. More, perhaps, than he loved me. I hate the fact that Gavin does not, will not, and really cannot know his dad.

But that does not mean he cannot grieve him.

As he is getting older, the comments and questions are coming more frequently. Mommy, where is Daddy? I love my Daddy. I miss my Daddy. I shutter every time they come from his mouth. Because I feel too emotional to deal with them. Too ill-equipped. I don’t have any answers. I don’t know what to say....

I watch him watching other daddies interact with their children. He and I both know that our lives are not the same.

I arrive late to pick him up, and he clings to me crying. “Mommy, I thought you weren’t coming.” “I’ll always come, Gavin.” “I thought you died like Daddy.”

It doesn’t matter who you are, words like that from such an innocent source will break your heart.

There are days that Gavin will come to me, give me a hug, and start to cry. “Why are you crying, Gavin?” “I’m sad.” “But why are you sad, lovebug.” “My daddy died. I miss him.”

I don’t know how much he actually knows. How much he understands. Or how much is parroted from things he has seen his mommy do and heard his mommy say. But I know these moments are often spontaneous. Out of the blue. And as a mommy who wants to protect her little boy from the harsh realities of what can be a cruel world, they hurt.

I cannot shield Gavin from the truth which is his life. He has known death far, far too soon. People – even daddies – die.

I wish that weren’t the truth. More than anything on this planet, I wish it weren’t his and my truth. I wish my little man had no reason to suffer.

I haven’t walked Gavin’s journey. I’m 35, and my daddy is still living. My first funeral was for my grandma when I was a teenager. The first thing I remember dying was a budgie named Teet. But I do know my role in Gavin’s journey. And its two-fold. First off, it is to stand beside him. To walk with him. To answer his questions. To reassure him that in the end things will be okay. And to do everything I can to fight my own demons, so Gavin does not lose me as well.

And second-off, its to be there, when he is ready, to talk. About the man that is – and always will be – his dad. About dying. But also about living. To impart stories. Share memories. And hopefully, in some little way, bring a part of his daddy back to life...

Today is Children’s Grief Awareness Day. Through the virtual young widowed community I have grown to trust, I have been introduced to so many children like Gavin. Children who have had to face death far before anyone should have to. Children that are out there asking the questions none of us have answers to. The biggest being Why...... Their needs are different. And often overlooked to the larger community. But these children are my idols. My heroes. Because whatever bad hand they have been dealt in life, they constantly rise above it. Often carrying their surviving parents on their backs, they learn to live with death, because that’s the only life they know.

I may have to teach my son lessons on death. We have many more conversations ahead. But at the same time, my son is teaching me lessons about life....

Counting the Days - An Act of Remembrance

Image can be found here...

November 11. Remembrance Day. And I’m remembering. For all the wrong reasons...

It was 27 months ago today that my world was knocked off its axis. And in a cruel trick of fate, today I reach another milestone.

Kurt lived 12 816 days on this earth. Today is my 12 817th.

He was born two years before me. And I am now officially older than my older husband will ever be...

I look in the mirror today, and don’t see someone who is old. Not by society’s standards anyway. But I feel old. Not only because of what I have weathered, what I have endured. But because I intimately know that I am old enough to die...

How did Kurt feel that day when he looked in the mirror? Like a young man, ready to take on the rest of his life? Or a young man knowing this was the last day of his?

I can’t really get my head around the fact that I am now older than he will ever be. That his life really was that short. Or that my days really are that numbered. All I know is that I will wake up tomorrow – on my 12 818th day, and on the day following, and so on and so forth. Gradually aging in a manner Kurt was never allowed to.

Many years from now, I will look in the mirror at an old – or at least much older woman – and still see my husband as a young man. Frozen in time. Stuck in his 30s.

Will he still want me when our paths do cross again? Me, an old woman who has lived out her life. Him, a young man, who was never given that opportunity?

Its just another day I never thought would come. That I am trying to make sense of.

12 816 days. It really isn’t that long. I wonder how much older I will be, how many more days I have, until I am finally again with him.....

Of Dreams and Fairy Tales

Image can be found here

I indulged for a moment last night. Laying in bed, I turned to face the wall, laying just as I would when Kurt lay beside me. I closed my eyes. And for a moment I could feel him there. He was not dead. The past two years were only a dream. A bad dream.

And then I reached over, and felt nothing but a cold, empty pillow where his head should have been. And poof. My dream again became my reality.

Gavin has taken a fascination to the movie Shrek. For those of you uneducated to the lives of famous green ogres, Shrek lives in the kingdom of Far Far Away. Where fairy tale creations are real....

What I would do to go there, to the place of my dreams, to live out my fairy tale. To find my happily ever after. To bring back the characters in my idyllic life story. Kurt and I could once again walk hand in hand, with Gavin and his two siblings running at our feet. Our life lived out as we had planned. As it should have, had death not taken him away.

I cannot guarantee that things would be better. I cannot imagine they could be much worse. I know they would be different. And I hope things would be easier. That the world would at least make a little more sense....

I don’t know if Kurt was really beside me last night. I don't really know if he's ever here any more. But I do know that it felt nice, if only for a very brief moment, to not feel quite so alone. To feel that things are as they should be. To feel content. To feel at ease. To feel normal. Dare I say, to feel okay. Its the same feeling I get just before waking up while dreaming of him. That flash where my conscious mind realizes that he is there, with me. Honestly, its one of the best feelings in the world...

And then you wake up longing for more, and sad because you realize its only make believe...

“The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don't know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and it really happened.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Gothe

“Come to me, darling; I'm lonely without thee; Daytime and nighttime I'm dreaming about thee.” ~Joseph Brennan

The Blame Game

Image can be found here...

"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone....."

I've said many times in the posts before that I feel responsible for what happened to my husband.  I wear the guilt like a cloak.  And it acts like a cloak too.  It hides me.  My emotions.  Probably the truth.  By blaming myself I don't have to deal with the reality of the situation....

Sometimes bad things happen to good people.  Sometimes things are out of my - or anyone's -  control.  And sometimes 35 year old men drop dead instantaneously.  And there's not a darn thing that can be done about it.

I can direct all my emotions at myself.  Turn the pain into anger.  The longing into guilt.  I can swear at myself, punish myself, hate myself.  And in the end, that changes little.

He's gone.  He's not coming back.  And as much as I struggle to admit it, as much as it really, really hurts to say... Regardless of what I had done, on that day or in the days that come before or after, he would have died anyway.

I can't explain the feelings that well up just seeing that in print.  It throws my entire world order out of whack.  It makes me question life - and death.  "Why?" is replaced with "Why not?".  And I don't have an answer...

There was really nothing I could have done...

I'm wrestling with that reality.  Part of me wants to accept it, to free myself, to move forward.  Part of me is afraid of what forward looks like, so would rather stay put, in the familiar, albeit painful.  Part of me feels like even typing that is doing a disservice to Kurt.  Part of me is afraid I will stop feeling.  That I will forget.  Repeat the same mistakes.  And part of me doesn't know what to think, say or feel.  That's the biggest part of me.

I'm sad.  Terrified.  Guilty.  Confused.

I am a person divided.

But I think I found something today.  It didn't come in a hidden message.  Or a dream.  Or a sudden revelation.  There was no booming voice.  No burning bush.  Just me, a counsellor, a very pointed discussion... and a lot of tears.  And the revelation that is may be okay to be "okay."  That cause and effect doesn't always apply in matters of the mind, of life and death.  That blaming doesn't change the past, but rather clouds the future.

I'm not ready to shed my cloak completely yet.  I still carry guilt.  I always may.  But I can't let it control me.  Because that renders me out of control.  I can't change what I did... or didn't do.  Only what I do now.

Its a terrifying cliff that I am standing on.  Not sure whether I will jump off, climb down, or retreat.  I guess time will tell.

I'm sorry for what I didn't do.  Sorry for what I couldn't do.  Sorry for what I did.  Sorry for what I do....

I know Kurt forgives me.

I hope I can now forgive myself.

Hopeless

Image can be found here...

Hope is the feeling we have that the feeling we have is not permanent. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook

And therein lies the problem.  As I sit here for another night alone, wishing it were different, I know what I think I have known for quite a while.  A lot of the reason as to why nothing seems to improve.  

I have lost hope.

There is no promise of a brighter tomorrow in my world.  No possibility that things will get better.  Just the stark reality of today stretching out farther and farther as time passes.  I see that bright world all around me - like the child in the darkness peering into the brightly lit windows of other people's lives.  But there is always a pane of glass separating me from it.  I can never seem to step into the light myself.

I have felt glimmers of that hope.  In talking to others who have walked where I walked, and made it out alive.  When people finally admitted it was more than grief, and connected me with people who had the skills to really help.  In those rare days without any tears.  When I found reason to smile.  And in my son's innocence, his laugh and smile.  But just as fast as things seemed to maybe get a little better - poof - that better disappeared.  Like a mirage in the desert, always tempting you.  Always just out of reach.

Its always more of the same.  A different form, a different flavour, but the same stuff...

So many people tell me that hope matters.  To keep the faith.  That the brighter days are still ahead.  But when all you see is an endless parade of grey, its hard to believe them.  Even the brief moments of colour are muted and quickly forgotten in a life that is being lived out in black and white.

History tends to repeat itself, day after dreary day  And I know its a self-fulfilling prophecy.  But where do you find hope when you have tapped your reserves dry?  (And I ask this on all seriousness...)  There are no hope sections in the supermarket.  You can't find it on ebay.  And with each setback, each failed attempt, each bad week - or even day - I can feel my own supply draining.  

I don't talk to people about this any more.  Its not worth it.  There is no such thing as a hope transplant.  And people with full pantries cannot understand what it is like to truly be hungry, until they are hungry themselves. And I am starving.

I want to feel hopeful.  I want to see the light.  At least then there would be an intrinsic reason to get up in the morning, to keep trying.  But if you ask for toys at Christmas, and all Santa brings you are socks and underwear, you tend to stop asking for anything.  You may even start to believe he isn't real.  Either one is easier than experiencing repeated disappointment.  And so while I want better days, and even still from time to time ask the universe for them, I have a lot of socks and underwear in my life right now.  I expect those socks and underwear.  I don't really think anything better will ever come my way again....

When the world says, "Give up," Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."  (Author Unknown).  But when do you stop trying, and simply accept defeat?  Learn to live with only what you have.  It takes energy to try.  And even more energy to fall and get back up again.  After doing what needs to be done, I only have a finite supply of energy left....

"When you have lost hope, you have lost everything....” ~ Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four.  And again, therein lies the problem.

I Think....

"I think about how there are certain people who come into your life and leave a mark. The ones who are as much a part of you as your own soul. Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless. If you had a lifetime to talk, there would still be things left unsaid." ~Sara Zarr

Giving Thanks

Frederick Keonig once said "We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have."

Elbert Hubbard once said "I would rather be able to appreciate things I cannot have than to have things I am not able to appreciate."

With both those thoughts in mind today, Thanksgiving Day, in the pursuit of happiness, I give thanks. For what I have, and what I have had.

For Kurtis, who showed me the meaning of true love. Who taught me that I was worthy of such feelings. With whom I felt okay to be myself.

For Gavin, who gives me a purpose, gives me a reason. Who gives me something to smile about every day. He is Kurt's legacy. He is the embodiment of both the past and the future. But more importantly, he is my son.

For my parents, who gave me life. Who raised me well. Who taught me much. And whom I respect, admire, and love more than I have words for.

For family and friends, who have stuck beside me even when I wanted to be left alone. They have given me shoulders. Support. A listening ear. They have given me their time.

For the online widow and widower community. Many names who have no faces. They understand this ride in a way my "real" world cannot. They normalize the abnormal. They are my sounding board. At times my voice of reason. They have helped me out of some dark pits. Not by pulling me up, but simply because I know they are beside me as I walk through. Because I know they have walked through too. I owe them a lot. And I know none of them expect repayment in the end.

For this entire grief journey, as awful as it is. It has taught me to slow down. Listen to me. It has taught me the value of a minute. The worth of a relationship. The importance of a smile. I have seen things many others have not. And understand on a level that can only be brought about by experience. I do believe that someday, when the fog dissipates, I will be a better, more caring, more appreciative person because I have been on it. Or at least I hope to be.

I am thankful for yesterday. It has given me many memories. Many smiles. Many laughs. It has moulded me into who I am. It has not been perfect. But it has certainly not been all bad. And I wouldn't change it... except maybe a few fateful days.

I am thankful for today. For what I have around me. For what I have been given. A home, a job, a son. Love and life.

I am thankful for tomorrow. Because it offers the hope of something more. Something new. Something better. It gives me reason to push through the bad, believing that somewhere out there is good.

The sunrise, sunshine, and sunset. The changing of these seasons. The progression of years. As much as it is my enemy. As much as I dislike it, I am thankful for time.

The good and the bad. There is something to gain from every experience. You cannot always control what is thrown your way. All you can do is roll with the punches. Ride the waves. And hope it all works out in the end....

As I've quoted before, "Life ain't always beautiful. But its a beautiful ride." And as much as I dislike it. As much as I wish I were somewhere else, I'm also thankful that I'm along for the ride...

Birthday Boy

Our baby boy turned three today.

Kurt has now been gone 787 days.  That's a lot of special events.  A lot of milestones in his young son's life.  And of all those days - holidays, anniversaries, and very day in between - I find Gavin's birthday to be one of the toughest.

I think it is in part because I look to the memories to get me through.  I cling to the memories to remind me he was real.  I have no memories of Kurt and Gavin blowing out the candles together.  This is Gavin's third birthday without his dad.

And that just makes me sad.  Sad for me.  But even sadder for my little man.

Who knows what he would be like - we would be like if his daddy had lived another year.  Or another two years.  Or 787 more days.  Would he have even more of his daddy in him than I see now?

I tried hard not to get drawn into the "what-ifs" as I went about today.  As Gavin opened his presents.  Spent time with special people.  As he blew out the candles on his cake.  But they can't help but cross my mind.  There's no denying that Gavin's life - all our lives - would have been very, very different.

I've always said my grief is double, because I am grieving not only for me, but for a boy who knows no different.  I mourn not only my loss, but that of my son as well.

As much as I hate to admit it, Gavin is now my son.  He carries his daddy's genes.  His daddy's characteristics.  An awful lot of his dad, really.  But he is who he is because of my actions.  My discipline.  My morals.  My values.  The divide between mommy's and daddy's influence is not 50-50.  Not even close.

And with each successive year, and each additional candle on the cake, that divide grows.  Kurt's influence wanes.  As much as it pains me to say this, at some point far too soon, it will all but disappear completely....

I'm incredibly proud of that three year old boy who stands before me today.  Proud that he and I have survived the past 787 days together.  Proud of the little man he is growing in to.  And yes, as painful and as hard as it is, proud that, for the most part, I have done it on my own.

I wish this path on no one.  But if I have to walk this road, every day I am thankful that I have Gavin beside me.  And we are walking this road together.

Happy birthday, little G-man.  For every tear I have cried for your daddy, every tear you have wiped from my eyes, I want you to know that my love for you is even deeper.  There is nothing - not even your father - that I would trade for you.  I honestly believe that what we have runs so much deeper than most that I know.  Because you are more than my child.  You are literally my everything.  And we are in this together.  I can't give you your daddy.  And I can't give you all that you deserve, but I can give you this - my love.  My undying love.  My undivided love.  And the promise that mommy will continue to get up every morning, and strive to make things better for both of us.  I'll make mistakes.  I'll cry.  Sometimes a lot.  But I'll also do my best to push through the tears.  For you.  You really are the best thing your daddy ever gave me.  You are my reason for everything.  And I love you, and owe you, so much more than you will ever, ever know.

All the way around the world, sweet child.  To the stars and back.  Together there's no telling how far we will go....

New Normal

Image can be found here....

Gavin had his annual doctor's physical this morning.  Our little boy is growing up....  Watching him there made me flash back to that first checkup, days after being released from the hospital.  My Dr. mentioned it too.  She says she still remembers him...  Kurt took time off work to be there.  He was so proud.  He loved that little boy as much as he loved me – if not more.  I have to keep reminding myself that all three of us are lucky to have had that kind of love.

Its only now, as I think back on it - on all that was - that I let myself cry those few tears that have been hanging around all day.  But across those tear-streaked cheeks, there is also a hint of a smile.  It was such a good time back then...

Happy and sad at the same time.  Smiling through the tears.  This, I suppose, is the face of progress...

So many people have talked to me about finding a “new normal.”  It will come, they said.  With time.

I guess that’s what this is.  Or at least one form of it.  Because I think your normal is always changing to some degree, in some way.  And that is normal too, dead husband or not...

In my new normal, I’m constantly learning that I can do things on my own.  I don’t always want to.  But as I raked the lawn and prepared the air conditioning unit for the onset of winter, it hit me how often I do “Kurt’s jobs” without even thinking about it.  Little things like mowing the lawn, using the power tools, tightening a door hinge, changing a furnace filter, opening the toolbox, or taking the car for a carwash.  Because they have to be done... because someone needs to do them.  Its “normal” that that someone falls to me.

I’m used to the life we have now.  Even the tears, the flashbacks, the noises, and the nightmares are normal.  The anxiety attacks, though still not expected, are not as foreign as they once were.  I can sense them coming.  I know the signs.  They are normal too.  

I know I’ll probably cry a few tears before bed.  Might even cry myself to sleep.  The hurt is normal.  The pain is normal.  The sadness is normal.  Its not a good normal.  Its not the normal I ever wanted or imagined for any of us.  Its a rather dreary and depressing normal, really.  But it is what it is.  And like it or hate it, it is our life.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t like this.  Don’t want it.  Still don’t really accept it.  But that’s all normal too.  You get used to the monkey on your back when he is there 24-7 for over two years.  Some moments, you almost forget he’s there at all.  It’s those moments, actually, that now seem out of place...

And so its normal that I take Gavin to everything alone.  Share our events, our milestones, with no one.  And that something as simple as a Dr’s office can make me think of Kurt, and cry.

I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that this is normal.  Which in some way makes me normal. 

But I’d throw all that normalcy away if he would one minute walk back through the door.  Which, I guess is normal too......

We Are (Not) Family

I've done a lot of thinking about families.  What they look like.  What the word means.  The latest census Canada report describes how families come in more shapes or sizes than ever before.  An increasing number are single parent.

I have no problem looking at other single parent households and seeing a family unit.  But I just can't do it for my own.

Maybe its the black cloud I always see hanging over our heads.  Maybe its the empty chair at the head of the table.  Whenever I look at images of Gavin and me, things just don't feel complete.  We are not, in my eyes, a family.

We were one.  A lifetime ago.

I just want what so many people around me seem to have.

A couple walking hand in hand.

A mother and father holding their infant daughter or son.

A child holding their infant brother or sister for the first time.

Kids fighting together.  Playing together.  Just being together.

Chairs full around the dinner table with lively conversation about the day.

And when the kids are tucked up tight, mom and dad side by side on the couch.  Someone to snuggle with as the evenings turn cool.

June Clever-ish... Perhaps.  And it doesn't need to be that way for everyone.  But it needs to be that way for me.  It could have been that way for me.

It should have been that way for me.

Its all I ever wanted.

Like I said, there are families like that all around me.  I'm at that age where that vision is coming true for so many.  My Facebook newsfeed is full of such images.  Acquaintances are full of such descriptions.

And then I come home to my son - whom I love dearly.  But we are not a family.  We're incomplete.  Something is missing.

It will always be missing.....

It Wasn't Supposed to Be This Hard...

Source can be found here...

This is the hardest thing I have ever done.  And by this, I mean today, and yesterday, and the day before....  Don't get me wrong - finding my husband dead was hard.  Saying goodbye may have been ever harder.  But in those earliest days I was carried, swept unwillingly along by a tide of adrenaline, numbness, and community support.

Its as that tide receded and people returned to their lives, as the adrenalin and numbness wore off and the real emotions set in that things got really tough.  When the people I could lean on got caught up in their own lives, or collapsed from being leaned on for too long.  When I started expecting more of myself then I could physically offer.  When I was forced to do this alone.

My days start the same.  While those around me are reaching for their glasses, their dentures, or their snooze buttons, I am reaching for my mask.  Its the one I wear throughout the day.  The one that keeps me from breaking down every time something reminds me of him... which is often.  Every time I think of him... which is even more often.  The one that allows me to step into the bathroom in which he died.  The Walmart we used to frequent together.  The one that allows me to answer our son when he asks about his dad.  Deal with the depressed look in his dog's eyes.  Speak to his mom.  The one which allows me to function at work - although there are many days I wonder just how well.  To go to the grocery store.  To pay the bills.

The mask that allows me to go about life, doing what needs to be done.  The mask that tells others I'm coping, doing okay.  Doing better.  The mask that even, on some days, shields my real emotions from myself.

Its a lot like living in a pit of quicksand, really.  The more you struggle against it, the deeper it sucks you down.  So you trudge slowly and painfully forward, hoping you have the strength to put one foot in front of the other.  And in the next breaths, secretly wishing that you would just sink.  All the while dragging behind you, like a ball and chain, your emotions.  Your memories.  Your sadness.  The things you cannot say.  The things you have no words to say.  And the things that no one, frankly, wants to hear.

Maybe someday you'll find the end.  Maybe someday you'll stop and sink.  Or maybe this quicksand road just stretches on forever.....

As the day draws to a close - once Gavin has been tucked in tight and the nightly chores done, I take off this mask.  On the outside its fine.  The same pasted smile I saw that morning, and the night before.  The inside, however is damp from my tears.  Caked with perspiration from the effort exerted that day.  That's the side of the mask only I see....

Without the mask on, I don't recognize myself any more.  I don't like the face I see.  It shows deep worry lines, carved from wondering whether you have enough money to pay the sitter, how you will get from point A to point B with stops at C, D, and E before nap time.  Whether the downward spiral you have been on is the result of your medication, or because the medication is not working.  Whether anyone will notice your boy hasn't had a bath in days because you don't want to get near the tub.  Whether you will be the next to die.  Or your son.  Or someone else, and when.  The eyes are glazed from tears, void of joy.  The face has prematurely aged, from innocence lost.  From the harsh realizations that so many around you are protected from knowing.  That you wouldn't tell them if you could.

As you go to bed, you prepare for another restless night full of nightmares and memories.  You long to pray for something more, but no longer have anyone to pray to....

During the day, you walk the streets alone - your true self hidden in self preservation from the outside world.  Because the outside world cannot understand, and has no time for you.  At night, you are a stranger even to yourself, unable to share.  Unable to find the answers.

Even in this sea of people, in this mass of humanity, you feel you are struggling to survive.  Alone.

And that, my friends, day in and day out, is hard.  Harder than anything I could have imagined.  No workout can train you for it.

Living - existing - both inside and outside my head.  Without a road map, or set of instructions.  Feeling dead in the world of the living.  Trying to hide me, understand me, and express me at the same time.

It really is the hardest thing I have ever done....

It Was His Time

Image can be found here...

If one more person tells me "It was his time" I think I'm going to go postal on them.  Even two years out, I hate that sentiment.

But they are right.  It was his time.

It was his time to start a family.  To watch his children grow.
It was his time to buy a house, to build a home.
It was his time to develop a career.  To do what he loved.  To make his mark on the world.
It was his time to kiss his wife in the rain.  Cuddle on the couch.  Feel the love.
It was his time to train his dang dog to piss in the yard.
It was his time to blow out the candles on his cake.  And his wife's cake.  And his son's.
It was his time to fix the leaky faucet.  The broken fence.  The sticking window.
It was his time to cook suppers - at least once a week.
It was his time to mow the lawn.  Pull the weeds.  Plant the flowers.
It was his time to smile until his cheeks hurt.  Laugh until his gut ached.
It was his time to travel.  To see the world.
It was his time to relish all he had.  Be happy with what he was finally given.
It was his time to be proud with who he was.  What he had become.

It was not his time to die.....

If Only

Image can be found here...

Some days are easier than others.

Today was hard.

In part, its because the counsellor I have been seeing decided today was the day to show me no mercy.  To get me to say the things I have been thinking.  Out loud.  And to look her in the eye while I said it.

Try as I might to change it, those secret words always take the form of apologies to Kurt.  For not being  good enough.  Strong enough.  Tough enough.  Brave enough.

For not being enough. Before.  During.  And after.

Ive got a long, long way to go in accepting the guilt.  In admitting my flaws.  In acknowledging the truth.

Then I came home, to an empty house.  Gavin was not here to distract me.  Entertain me.  Just be with me.

When you're sad, and alone, and sad about being alone things just seems a lot darker.

But there was more.  Things I can't even reveal on here, not knowing who I may know that will read them.  Things that I can only say in silence to myself.

I feel guilty about what I think, what I want to say.  Like I will be judged by those who do not know me.  Or do not know the new me.

If only people could see the road I walk.  Understand in part the path I have been given.  See the me I see.  Hear the things I silently say.

If only people could drop the clocks and calendars they wave when telling me its time to move on.  If only I could drop the same clocks and calendars I wave at myself because its been too long...

If only I could trust again.  Speak with no apprehension.  Without fear of judgment.  To one person.  To anyone.

If only I could understand.  Why this happened.  To Kurt.  But also to me since.

If only he would speak to me one more time.  To tell me he hears.  That he understands.  That he forgives.

If only I could shed the burdens of the past.  Learn the lessons of the past.  And start to walk again.

If only there was a switch somewhere.  To fix the past.  To fix the present.

Or just to fix me....

If only....

A Beautiful Ride

Original Source found here...

The mornings are getting cooler.  The days are getting shorter.  The nights are getting longer.  Back to school pictures are flooding my newsfeed as fast as pencils are flying off the shelves at Walmart.

Fall isn’t far away.

Since Kurt died, the change of seasons has been a melancholy experience.  Its an outward, visible reminder that time keeps marching along.  As much as I beg for it to stop – or even just slow down – soI can catch up, it keeps on moving.  Tomorrow becomes today.  Today fades to yesterday.  The future becomes the past.  The past slips further away...

And as the days progress, and seasons change, my days without him continue to grow.  He becomes further away too.  His face is only a photograph.  His voice only an echo.  His touch only a memory.

There’s grass to be cut.  Soon lawns to be raked, and snow to be shoveled.  Then lawns to be raked again, flowers to plant, and gardens to tend.  Day by day, time marches on.  The world outside didn’t stop when my heart broke.  The earth continues to circle the sun.  Lives go on.  Even mine.

I’m noticing the change of seasons – the progression of time – is not as hard as it once had been.  I don’t fight it any more.  I just let it happen.  It will, after all, happen anyway.  There’s no useresisting.  But I can’t help but look out the window and realize this is another season he will never see.  Another blade of grass which he never walked upon.  Another rain shower he never felt.  My collection of things without him is becoming larger than my collection of things we did together.  And that is a bitter pill to swallow.  A reality I just don’t want to face.

October is bookended by Gavin’s birthday at the beginning, and Halloween at the end.  Both are things Kurt never got to experience.  Every memory of Gavin blowing out the candles or collecting the candy is mine.  I’m starting to prepare for those days to roll around again.  We are slowly making our own memories – Gavin and I.  There are things we have done, days we have had, which give me reason to look back and smile.  But there is a shadow off to the side in every image.  A spot where Kurt should have been. 

I’ll cut my grass, rake my lawn, and shovel my snow without him.  I will mark the change of the season, the progression of the year.  One Fall in the not-too-distant future I will be buying those pencils for Gavin, posting those pictures of my own grown-up little man. 

You can’t stop the Earth from spinning.  Can’t stop the hands of time.  Might as well hold on tight...

Like the song whose lyrics sit on the side of this blog - the song I play when i need a push - says:  Life ain't always beautiful.  Sometimes its just plain hard.  Life can knock you down, it can break your heart... But the struggles make you stronger. And the changes mak you wise.  And happiness has its own way of taking its sweet time... No, life ain't always beautiful.  Tears will fall sometimes.  Life ain't always beautiful.  But its a beautiful ride...

Just like the changes that come with the changing of the seasons.  The passing of time.  Its not easy. But it has flickers of beauty.  It is a beautiful ride...

Original Image can be found here...