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...

Footprints

Image can be found here...

I got an email last night... or rather, Kurt got an email on his account which I am having forwarded to me automatically – I just can’t close it off.  It was from an old acquaintance who had come across his name and was dropping a line to see how he was doing.  If you take the time to ask, I will take the time to answer.  So I replied.  And, more than two years after the fact, had to break the news for the first time again....

In the one conversation Kurt and I had about death, he had told me that he didn’t think many people would bother to come to his funeral when the time came.  He didn’t feel that many people cared that much.  Looking out at the church on that Wednesday afternoon, however, it struck me how wrong he was....

You never really know how many people you have genuinely touched on some personal level until it is too late.  You never really have a chance to see the size of the footprint you leave on the world.    Both literally and figuratively, Kurt had big feet.  Which puts a lot of pressure on me. 

I have big shoes to fill.

I can admit I have become somewhat reclusive to many since Kurt’s passing.  I don’t share as openly, for fear of judgement and reprisal.  I don’t love as openly, for fear of getting hurt.  I have cut ties with many people, and things that used to be important to me – that still are important to me.  I don’t know why.  Because it is easier?  Safer?  Hurts less?  Is more predictable?  Its not because I want to.  There is so much about how I am reacting that I just don’t understand...  I surrender to my need to hide, to cocoon myself, for fear of the above and more.  For fear of being exposed.  For fear of being wrong.  Just for fear...

Anxiety is a term I didn’t really know up until the fallout from that day.  Now it is my constant companion.  And it drives so much of what I do, what I say.  How I feel.  I am controlled by my unreasonable, uncontrollable emotions.  Which only heightens the feelings of being unsafe, and out of control.

I have made some mistakes throughout this grieving process.  I have felt the consequences.  Some deserved.  And some not.  I have hurt.  And I have been hurt.  And yet I won’t apologize for what I have or have not  done.  How I have or have not done it.  Because we all cope in our own manner.  And I am still standing.  Still coping.  Mine has gotten me this far...  Still, I wonder if I am driving away people by my intense, inexplicable need for self preservation and self assurance.  If I am actually shrinking my footprint as time passes.

If I were to die tomorrow, what would people remember?  Would they see me as I am today – and have been for much of the past two years?  Or would they see me as the person I was for the thirty-plus years before?  The real person who is buried beneath layers of history, complexities and sadness.  The person Kurt fell in love with.  I will never be that person again – the person I loved.  But I hope to  emerge from this a reincarnation of that person.  A person I can love again.

Would people care what happened?  What I have lived through?  How hard I fell?  How deeply it impacted me?  How long the climb has been?  How far I have come?  How much further I  have to go?  How hard I have tried to reach the top?  Or would they think it was only an excuse, a cover-up?  Would they understand?  Try to understand?

Would they even come to my funeral at all?

Moving On

Image can be found here

When I posted the Six Minutes series, I didn't expect the number of comments I received.  Many of them were positive, but some were not.  I expect negative feedback.  It is the hazard of sharing what is private in a public forum.  And my skin is pretty thick when it comes to it - mostly because I can attribute much of the negativity to ignorance.  They are not in my head.  They have not lived it.  I get it.  I was once there too...

One, in particular, struck a chord with me.  In it, the anonymous poster was basically lambasting me for reliving the past.  Its time I forgot, let be, and move on was their sentiment.

This is my response to them... and to everyone else who says it is best to move on.

I will not "move on."  I do not desire to "move on."  It is, in fact, virtually impossible in my eyes to "move on."  To move on implies leaving the past behind you, and starting a new.  Kurt is too much a part of me to simply shake it off and leave him behind.  By nature of our son, I cannot leave him behind.  Even if it were in my best interest, it would be a disservice to a boy who wants - and deserves - to know about his dad.  And Gavin aside, quite frankly, I don't want to.  I don't want to leave Kurt behind.  Realistically, I don't think I could even if I tried.

Moving on, in my mind, is not an option.

What I can - and am trying to do, however, is move forward.  Accepting that this has changed me.  Accepting that this is a part of me.  And using that acceptance to propel me to do something else, something more. 

I struggle with that at times.  Its easy to get caught in what could - and should - have been.  It is the more desirable of the options.  It is the place I still long to be.   Blame complicated grief.  Blame the PTSD.  Blame my stubbornness.  Blame the fact that I still live in the same house.  Blame the universe.  Blame god.  Whatever it may be, I can admit that many of my thought pattens keep me there.

But with every morning a new, every step I take, every breath of my lungs and beat of my heart, I believe that I am slowly moving forward.

Those that are close to me see it more than do I.  They tell me I have changed.  That I am "better."  That things are not as raw.  They can see the difference, the progression, even when I feel stuck.  On my bad days, many days, I doubt them.  But there are some days that even I have to agree... I am not where I was a year ago.  Not as far as I would like to be.  As I expect to be.  But I have not been standing still...

If someone looses a leg, they do not "move on."  They do not put it behind them, forget about it, and keep going as though nothing out of the ordinary happened.  They move forward.  They accept.  They adapt.  They survive.  And in time, they relearn to thrive.  I didn't lose a leg.  But I did lose one half of myself - my identity, my future, my self-confidence, my world paradigm, my heart...

I'm sure many of you will read this as a matter of semantics.  Move on.  Move forward.  It's all the same.  But to me, those semantics are the difference between leaving Kurt behind, and carrying him with me into the future.  The impossible, and the difficult.  The unforgivable, and the desirable.

Whatever the future may hold, Kurt and I still walk the road together.  For my sake, for Gavin's sake, and for Kurt's honour I will not leave him behind.  I will neither forget nor minimize the impact he has had on me.  I could not if I tried.  I will not move on.

Perhaps it would be easier if I did.  If I could.  But I can assure you that nothing on this road thus far has been easy.  So I continue to move forward.  Perhaps with a little more baggage.  Perhaps at a slower pace.  Perhaps not the most direct nor smoothest route.  But I will get us to where we were going.

Step by step.  Day by day.  Moving forward into the future.

To you nay-sayers out there, I will not judge your chosen road.  All I ask is for you to do the same...