Grief is a Testament

"I keep telling myself that the ongoing grief is a testament to how loved he is.
You are not abnormal. Grief is an ebb and flow. A cycle of acceptance and disbelief that never ends."

I could tell you that someone wise wrote that. That it is the thought of someone I look up to. That is partially true. I wrote it. And when it comes to the topic of grief, I am wiser now than I was 3 years ago, that's for sure. Some days I think my sheer survival is to be commended - the fact that I have maintained a level of normalcy for our kids and I have helped to build a life they are enjoying and thriving in. 

It still surprises me the amount of understanding that is lacking for those experiencing grief. The judgement that lingers. The firm ideas that people who have never tread this path hold so tightly. The looks, oh, the looks.....

Sometimes people don't understand that I still grieve Tim. Maybe their timeline for my grief has passed. Maybe they think that my love for Jason has somehow erased my love for Tim. Sometimes I hear people get frustrated with others who still express their grief with tears. They judge how the other person grieves - they think it should be scheduled or secluded. I still cry. Even in public. I know a lot of people still cry about missing Tim. They wish they could call him and they cry because they can't. They think of the fun times they had together and the realization that those times can't happen again brings them to tears. They remember him as a child, and growing into a young man and an adult and the reality that they will never see him as an old man has their eyes brimming with tears. Me, I think about all of those things, and I think about all that he is missing. I think about how much we loved each other and the unfairness that he is not here to experience his 3 beautiful children growing up, that we don't get to fulfill all those dreams - it makes me cry. I'm crying as I type this, actually. 

It's true, I believe our tears and our memories show how loved - how missed he is. It is a testament to our love, to the love that so many people gave him in his lifetime. 

This week we will celebrate what would have been Tim's 46th birthday. A trigger. A milestone. A reason to celebrate that he lived. A reason to mourn that he died. It's complicated, and even the other widows in my life know that I can't explain it and even though they identify on some level, they can't fully understand it. 

So, please, don't judge me for being stoic. For sobbing uncontrollably on my way to school. For being lost in thought when you want to tell me what a hard week you've had. For being stand-offish or needy. For not wanting to meet for lunch or begging you to come over for dinner. Maybe I need my space or maybe I need to be held like a child. Either way, my reactions are normal. 

Grief doesn't go away. I likened it once to alcoholism. Just because you aren't drinking right now doesn't mean you are not an alcoholic. Just because I am living life, loving and raising my children doesn't mean I don't grieve Tim. Grief is a never-ending cycle. There is no cure. There is no end. It is an ebb and flow, and those closest to me know my triggers and understand what I need when I'm having one of those days. The rest of the world is free to be oblivious. It is okay. I kind of prefer it that way. 

What is not okay is to pass judgement on someone because their grief does not meet your standards. That is hurtful, and frankly oppressive. 

Stay Little

As I put the ice in my cup to go to bed tonight, something flashed through my mind....

I remember your little head fitting in my hand. Holding you, swaying you and shushing you for an hour to get you to fall asleep. Walking you down the hall to your room in my bare feet, taking small, smooth, even steps as not to wake you. Keeping my hands on you after laying you down, slowly lessening the pressure until I was able to back out of your room, afraid the sound of my feet on the carpet fibers would wake you. Nana following close behind, another baby in her arms, duplicating my motions.

Then Nana and I would talk quietly in the dark, 3 rooms away. Making a plan for the night. We would get our water for bed, afraid the sound of the ice cubes in the cups would wake you, and sometimes they did. If it did, we would sigh and start over.

Now you are big. When I say it's time for bed, you run down the hall, your doll and stuffed dog in hand, arguing only about who gets to go first.

When it is time for you to go to your separate rooms, you need a kiss, a hug, another hug. "Night night, brother." "Love you."

You know, those late nights on the couch when I felt like I couldn't sway you anymore, this is what I dreamed of. The day you would be big enough to walk to your room, to wrap your arms around my neck and say, "I love you, Mommy".

Now I wish I could stop time. Snuggle you more. Laugh and splash more. Wash your hair and give you a scalp massage instead of rushing to get you in your jammies. I wish there was more chance to let you "help" in the kitchen. More time for you to tell me what is on your mind, even when it doesn't make sense to me as anything other than excited ramblings. More time to pick out the right book to read. More time with each of you individually.

As much as I love seeing you play together and work things out as a team, I cherish the fleeting moments I steal with you each when it's just you and me.

There's so much time to be big..... I wish you could just stay little.

Re-Coupling: Congratulations, Chris

A widowed friend of mine became engaged this week. I could not be happier for him and his children as they begin this new adventure together. I know his late wife would have wanted a woman to come into their lives - not to replace her, but to bring those things a special lady brings to the family. As I have said before, it takes a special person to love the widowed, therefore, I know she must be special.

I also know how hard it can be to move forward when you feel the eyes of judgement upon you for it. He has chosen to live his journey of love and loss and grief very publicly, which has been incredibly brave in my eyes. He and his late wife have opened the eyes of many by sharing their story, and he continues to do so by sharing this part of his life openly.

He shared an article that I enjoyed and want to share as well. You see, it is not always easy for those around a widowed person to understand re-coupling, and this article addresses that in a straightforward way that is easy to understand.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/carole-brody-fleet/remarriage-after-widowhood_b_3545400.html

Thankful 2013

I am thankful....

…for Ayla & Anson, who have brought me more joy and purpose that I ever imagined I could have.

…for Jason who has shown me love and patience.He works hard to heal my broken heart while respecting my past and becoming my future. A delicate balance. 

…for my family who has been so incredibly supportive.

…for health. Something we easily take for granted until we no longer have it.

…for my parents, who are the best Nana & Papa and who are gracious about giving me a much-needed break when I need it. Seeing them interact with A&A makes me so happy.

…for my Sisters By Choice. I am an only child who has chosen 5 sisters – those ladies who have loved me at my best and my worst, for whom I would do anything. They are my family.

…for my love of cooking. It makes me feel good to feed people, and I am grateful to have people to feed.

…for Tim for helping to make me who I am and for giving me the greatest gifts of love and children.

…for our home, not just because I love it for keeping us warm and safe, but because we have some wonderful neighbors and the surrounding community is a place I am happy to be raising the kids.

…for Jason’s boys for opening up to me and giving me a chance. They brighten up my days.

…for the opportunity to be at home with A&A as much as possible right now during their formative years.

…for friends who mean so much to me, especially the ones who go out of their way to make an effort to continue communication even though I’ve dropped off the digital map.

…for memories and for photographs and video when those memories get fuzzy.

...for the members of Tim's family who respect me as a person, a mother and his wife.

…for technology and the inspiration, hope, communication and convenience it provides.

…for my Moms of Twins group, and the new friends it has brought into our lives.

…for Kaiser who is a fabulous “fuzzy brother” and who makes me feel very safe.

…for new experiences to broaden my horizons.

…for a healthy body and the ability to make it even healthier and stronger.

…for Mars who was the best kitty I have ever had. We had a great 12 years together.

…for the chance to sit on 2 boards for 2 organizations I believe in with all my heart. They allow me to make a difference.

...for the kindness of strangers. 

Wishing you and yours a wonderful Thanksgiving. Remember: "The things you take for granted, someone else is preying for." Give thanks, today and always. 

Off The Radar

Recently I had a revelation. I don't like Facebook. Maybe this is a temporary feeling, maybe it isn't. Time will tell.

I have been on it for years, since back when nobody aside from college kids had heard of it. Of course now it is so commonplace that most people have an account. And that is reflected in the fact that I have (or had) over 450 "friends".

On several occasions, I tried to pare down my list of friends, but it was difficult for me to virtually erase people from my life because I do actually know all these people. Friends from grade school, distant family, business associates, former classmates, friends from the prostate cancer community, fellow widows,  friends and old classmates of Tim's, people within my social circle.... I felt bad deleting them.

Facebook takes too much time. For it to be an enjoyable experience in which you are participating, you need to interact with people - post things, respond to the posts of others, keep your photos up to date, etc. That was time that I would rather be spending with my "real" friends - the ones who will take the time to call, text or email ME, just me, just to see how I am. That time is better spent with A&A, laughing or going on a walk. Reading up on something I would like to know more about. Pretty much anything.

At some point I realized that by being on Facebook, I was causing myself to feel as though I was living in a fishbowl. People could see what was going on in my life at will, and I didn't even know they were watching. And by looking in on the lives of all these "friends" I started to feel like a voyeur. I had so much information floating around in my head about people with whom I had not spoken in earnest in years. Sometimes decades. It just didn't feel right anymore.

There were times I felt envious of other people's vacations or the simplicity of what I viewed as their "freedoms". Times I felt excluded when an event I had attended was talked about and my attendance wasn't mentioned. Rarely were the times when I felt that my time on FB was well spent or that I walked away feeling better than I arrived.

Standing in a line or waiting in a waiting room, instead of striking up a pleasant conversation with a stranger and having a face to face conversation where I could learn something interesting, I would pull out my phone and look at Facebook. It feels silly now when I say it.... an embarrassment, really.

In the last month of Facebook free living, I have gotten more phone calls from my "real" friends than I have in the previous 6 months combined. I have emailed people, even sent and received actual mail.

Since leaving, several people who have actually noticed my absence have asked me about it. The assumption seems to be that because I have chosen to disconnect, something must be wrong. To that I reply that it is just the opposite. I am both content and happy. My children and I are blessedly healthy. I have a wonderful man in my life who loves me. I get to spend time with his kids doing fun things. And now more of my time can be dedicated to them, and not divided among my 450+ "friends".

It feels good to be free and anonymous.

My Little People

"Anson, can Mommy have a hug?"
"No."
"A kissy?"
"No."
"Ayla, can I have a kissy?"
"Hahaha... Nooo."

I think this is a sign that we are approaching 2. Is 2 really going to be "terrible"? Trying, maybe, but I can't imagine anything being terrible with these kids. A&A are growing and learning so much about the world around them. Learning to recognize their wants and needs, knowing what they do and do not want to do in any given moment in time.

"Do you want to go night night?"
"No."

Five minutes later.... "Mama, night night? Up."

At the table..... "Take a bite, you'll like it!"
"Mmmmm. Num num! More? Please?"
(Apparently they know how much I love when people compliment my cooking. That was one of my favorite things about Tim, he always complimented my cooking, especially in front of other people - bonus points!)

One of the things I am most enjoying is observing them learning to pretend. Every time they have the opportunity to play in a pretend kitchen, they love it. They pretend to cook and eat and put away dishes. (Santa is taking notes about this interest.) They have a small stroller at home and enjoy putting a "baby" in it and pushing it around, pausing to tend to the baby, giving her kisses and carrying her intermittently.

When we venture out, they point out babies, excitedly announcing their presence, just in case the mommy hadn't noticed that little bundle in her cart. Their baby pictures hanging on the wall are also more noticed now and they call their own small selves "baby!".

Recently they watched their first movie. They have seen other things before, but never paid attention like they did when I put on the Lion King. They both stopped and stared, standing in awe of the TV for some time before finally both climbing up on the couch with me to watch the entire film. I couldn't believe they would watch a whole movie like that, but they loved seeing the animals and naming them. (Although there were a LOT of "doggies" in their opinions.) Animals are of special interest now.

I was writing down on a calendar each time one of them learned a new word. Now the new words are flying out so fast I can't keep track. Anson even told me, "Mommy, come here" the other day. They tell each other "No, stop!" pretty frequently - I guess that's probably par for the course with twins.

I'm constantly amazed with the things they know, the things they are learning. No longer babies, I am impressed with the the amazing little people they are.

Accepted

"The past can not be changed, forgotten, edited or erased. It can only be accepted."

I'm not sure whose quote that is, but it seems to ring very true when it comes to coping with grief.

I don't think I ever really did the denial thing. I mean, I suppose there is a chance that am in denial about my denial, but I never thought that Tim was coming back. I definitely kept thinks just as they were for a very long time as if I was waiting for him to come back, but my logical mind knew that couldn't happen. Hell, it has been over 2 years and I still have his cell phones, keys and the change from his pockets sitting there on the nightstand. That's not because I think he is coming home to use his old Blackberry - it's because it somehow brings me comfort to see that stuff there. (Plus, I'm pretty sure if he did come back, Brittany and I would quickly convert him to an iphone guy.)

Did you ever read those "Which Way" books as a kid? From the first one I read in 3rd grade, I thought life was just like those books - you come to a point, you make a choice, that choice leads you down an entirely different path than if you had picked the other thing.

Meeting Tim in the first place was a total fluke. I was going to stay home that night instead of going out. Had I arrived any earlier, he would have been with another woman and I wouldn't have given him a second look. Had I arrived later, he would have been gone - a missed meeting that would have sent both of our lives down another path.

There some of those "which way points" that I wished I could have gone back and changed. Most of them had to do with Doctors, tests, knowing sooner. I was still willing to accept that cancer would be part of Tim's journey, part of our journey together, I just wasn't willing to accept it taking him away from me.

Early on in our relationship, we read a book together called the Book of Questions. It is a book that gets you talking about all kinds of subjects and I would recommend it to any couple to spark discussion. Question 19 reads, "You have the chance to meet someone with whom you can have the most satisfying love imaginable - the stuff of dreams. Sadly, you know that in six months the person will die. Knowing the pain that would follow, would you still want to meet the person and fall in love?"

We both said we would want to meet that person. I guess that is the hopeless romantic coming out in us both. We just felt that we were such a good fit and so intended to be together. The happiness of the moment could outshine the impending pain. It is strange to think that we discussed such a thing completely not knowing what the future would hold. We had no idea that Tim had cancer growing inside him from before we even met.

I know I can not change or edit any part of our journey. I would never want to forget or erase any of it - even the horrible, painful parts at the end - because it is our story and everything about our story is special to me.

I accept our story. Not because I wouldn't rewrite the ending if I could, but because I have no choice. Acceptance is what gives me permission to continue living.