Growing Old

Image can be found here...

Today is my birthday.  I'm not really in the mood for celebrating.

Today I turn the age he was. Is. Always will be.
Its strange to think of us as the same age.  In my mind, he will always be the older of the two....

I couldn't help but start to think how he was the lucky one.  How he will never have to experience days like today.  How I wish him and I could change places.... How I would never wish such pain on someone else... How I wish we had died together.

On the day of my birth, I am sitting here thinking of the day I will die.  Just like every other day.  Death surrounds me.  It is my constant companion.

The calendar frustrates me.  Confuses me.  Angers me.  Time is supposed to stop when your spouse dies.  When your life ends.  You're not supposed to get older, because they never will.  And you're definitely not supposed to get older than them.

But here I am, still living.  Still marking the passage of time, the passing of years.  Going out to do my best to celebrate a milestone I never thought would come.  At least not so soon.  Because we didn't die.  I didn't die.  And so I grow as old as him.  And will grow older than him.

Without him....

It Could Always Have Been Worse...

Image courtesy of i.am.brad

It could have been worse.

He could have suffered.
He could have drowned.
He could have been aware what was happening to him.
He could have survived with irreversible brain injuries.
He could have collapsed an hour later at work and killed someone.
He could have collapsed an hour earlier with Gavin in his arms
He could have collapsed two days earlier and killed us all.

Gavin could have died with him.
Gavin could have been older and felt more pain from losing his daddy.
He could have died before Gavin was born.  Before his first Christmas.  His first Fathers Day.
He could have died before Gavin was at all.

We could have been fighting when he died.  Our last words could have been in anger.
We could have had a loveless marriage.

I could have been left penniless.
I could have been left homeless.
I could have been completely alone, without family support.

He could have died alone, in his friend's basement, having never known love.
He could have died alone, in his friends basement, with me never knowing his love.

Instead.....

He did not suffer.
He did not know.
No one else got hurt.

Gavin is here with me.
He got to experience the joys of fatherhood.
His legacy is carried on in our son.
I am not alone.

I have a home to raise our son.
I have a job to provide for our son.
I have family to assist me in the raising of our son.

He collapsed in familiar surroundings, in a house he was proud of.

He knew love.
I knew love.
We knew love.

It could always have been worse....

My thanks to a fellow blogger who gave me the idea for this post.   You're right.  It could always be worse.....

Hands of Time

Image can be found here...

Tick tock. Tick tock.

A baby's born.  A father dies.

Tick tock tick tock.

A widow morns.  A new mother cries....

What I would do to slow the clock from ticking.  Time from moving forward.  Some widows I have spoken to tell me they draw comfort in the progression of time.  That the moments that pass on the clock take them one moment closer to the time they will be together again.

I love that image.  But can't share comfort in it.  Time is still my enemy.

Its the cause of stress.  Of heartache.  Of sadness.

Its passing overwhelms me.  So much that should be done.  So much that is up to me.  So much that I can't seem to muster the motivation or energy to accomplish.

And so the clock ticks and tocks.  And what is undone remains undone.  And time continues to march forward.  Carrying my unwillingly away from a time when things seemed better.  Easier.  Away from him.  Us.  Even me.

Tick tock.  Tick tock.

What I would do to exist away from time, away from expectation.  To just be allowed to be.  To not have to worry about the hours on the clock or the dates on the calendar.  To accept it rather than fight it.

Alas, 'tis not the world we live in.  There are responsibilities.  Deadlines.  Expectations.  The hands of time are the hands of my captor.  And I am their slave.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.....

Nine Lives

I had to put our cat down this morning.  The cat which bore Kurt's nickname.  The cat Kurt nursed back to health as a kitten.  Kurt's cat.

If you love animals, you understand that he was not "just" a cat...

I don't know whether I feel sad, angry, confused, all of the above, some of the above, or none of the above.  I know I did the right thing.  But I just don't feel good.  I miss my friend.  I miss my husband's friend.  And by extension, I miss my husband more....

Wiggy would have been 5 years old in May.  That's 36 human years according to the chart I stared at in the vet's office.  The average lifespan of an indoor domestic cat is 15-18 years.... That's equivalent to almost 92 human years at the upper end.  He died far too young.

Kurt was the same age as Wiggy.  35.  The life span of a male born in North America is almost 79.  He also died far too young.

Is this a sad coincidence?  Maybe.  Probably.  But as I look at the calendar and my impending 35th birthday, I can't wait until the next 365 days are over.  35 doesn't seem to be a good year in this household right now...

But if its more - God really does hold life and death in his grasp - then what does this mean?  Why must the two who were so intimately related as to carry the same name be called so soon, long before their time?  And why must I be the one always left standing as the dust settles, to bury their ashes and keep trudging along?  I've written before about my journey to rediscover my faith.  If this is the plan God has for us, I think it may just be time to part ways, before I am hurt further.

Now if I could just convince my heart that it is the right thing to do...

I Miss You...

Every second of every minute of every day.  With every breath I take.  With every beat of my heart.  More than you will ever know......

20 months today....

Grief

Image by just.Luc

I had my own notion of grief.

I thought it was the sad time

That followed the death of someone you love.

And you had to push through it

To get to the other side.

But I'm learning there is no other side.

There is no pushing through.

But rather,

There is absorption.

Adjustment.

Acceptance.

And grief is not something you complete,

But rather, you endure.

Grief is not a task to finish

And move on,

But an element of yourself-

An alteration of your being.

A new way of seeing.

A new definition of self.

~Gwen Flowers

With the Dawn....

Photo compliments of Herve Demers

Easter Sunday. Another holiday he is not here to see. I wish my faith were a little stronger today - that I had settled my score with God. The notion of one being risen from the dead is comforting. Hopeful even. Just as Easter is to be...

Gavin and I are far away from home. It's a holiday, a get away. But it's also me running away. Away from the memories. The ghosts. To a place where I don't expect him to be. I know I can't run forever... And yet he has followed me still. As I lay in bed I can't help but hear his voice. Reach for the comforting warmth beside me. To realize I am only talking to myself. Laying alone.

 The Easter Bunny will come tonite. And Easter morning will dawn tomorrow, full of hope and rebirth for those who believe. But with no one to share with me in either mystery, the day won't dawn as bright.... I suppose I should seek solace in the fact that it will dawn at all. After all, every dawn brings with it the possibility of a brighter tomorrow. One more step long the road to my rebirth as well.

 Hallelujah. The Lord has risen. Maybe there is hope for me yet...

The Men They'll Never Be

Watching little boys play with their daddy's this evening got me thinking.  About Gavin.  About Kurt.  About how they would have shaped and changed each other.  I couldn't help but wonder who the men in my life would have become.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my son and am daily proud of who he is becoming.  But you can't deny that with his daddy's influence, he could have become someone different.  Should have become someone different.  I know the child of mine.  But part of me feels cheated that I can never know the child of ours.

Its the same with Kurt, who never really had the opportunity to grow into his daddy role.  There are days I I can see him on the floor, playing with Gavin.  Hear him talking to his son.  His voice, his vision so real. But only in my mind.  He was so waiting for the day his son was old enough to talk to him.  Play with him.  As I watch Gavin now, I know Kurt was waiting for today....

Today never came.  Both my husband and my son were cheated out of a future that day.  And I was cheated out of the opportunity of watching two men develop into the people they were destined to be.

I guess I can't miss those men.  You can't miss what you never had.  What you don't even know.  But I wish I'd had the opportunity to find out.  Kurt was, and Gavin is, a wonderful human being.  I can only imagine how much more special they would have been together.....

Walk With Me

Come, walk with me, my friend,
I'll hold your hand.
This journey is not one to understand.
There is no sorting out
Chaff from the wheat.
We have to take the bitter with the sweet.

Come, walk with me,
Along the trail of tears.
We'll share our heartbreak, and our hopes and fears.
This trail is not designed
To walk alone.
But we will make discoveries of our own.

Come, walk with me, my friend,
We'll share the load
Up every hill and down the rugged road.
No map to show the route
Or tell how far.
No compass points the way, or guiding star.

Come, walk with me,
And I will walk with you.
Perhaps we two will find a better view.
Perhaps the trail,
Though thorny on the feet,
Wll widen for two sorrowed hearts to meet.

Come, walk with me
Through brambled vine and thorn.
Step over stones that leave hearts ripped and torn.
The walk is never easy,
That is true.
But you will walk with me, and I with you.

~Gwen Flowers

April Fools

Tis the day for practical jokes.  Vaseline on the door knob.  Fake stories on the radio.  Forged headlines in the paper....  Harmless jests with the intent of making someone look foolish to those around them. Jests forgiven at the words "April Fools."

What I would do today to have Kurt come in and announce "April Fools."  I would laugh at my grief - even though grief is no laughing matter - if someone could tell me the past months have all been an elaborate hoax.  That I have been living a life like the movie "Truman Show" - scripted and created for others pleasure.  Everyone else is in on the joke but me.

I'd slap him.  I'd yell at him.  I'd be madder than I have ever felt with him for what he has put me through.  But even in my rage I would hold him close and never again let him go.  And our tomorrows would never be like our yesterdays.  Because I could show him what I've learned - about the value of a moment as opposed to a day.  A second as opposed to an hour.

Alas, the cold hard stone box which contains his ashes tell me that he won't walk into the room.  Not today.  Not tomorrow.  Not ever.  Its not him and I - two faces looking at each other, but rather the stone vase between those faces.  And I am only an April's Fool for believing in the fairy tale notion of happily ever after.  There's a reason stories end on that page.  Because no one wants to face the hard cold reality on what happens beyond.....