Of Dreams and Fairy Tales

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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

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"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

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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

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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.....