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.

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.

Lightning Striking Twice?

"Lightning never strikes twice."

That quote was in my mind after Tim died a lot. I mean, I never imagined that I would love a man as amazing as Tim. He was so good to me, truly teaching me the meaning of "how you deserve to be treated". I'm not just one of those widows who makes their late husband into a perfect person after he is gone - ask anyone who knew him - he was pretty close to perfect. He would deny being perfect, instead telling me that, "I'm just perfect for you."

So when Tim was gone, I pretty much convinced myself that I'd had the last of the Good Men out there and that I was destined to be alone or at best, with someone mediocre. And you know what, I was okay with that because I knew I'd had the best already. To expect, or even hope, for that to happen twice would be just plain greedy.

How did it happen, then, that instead I met someone wonderful? Was he a gift? A gift from Tim? A birthday gift from Tim? He always did love giving a good gift. Who knows. But he loves me. He looks out for A&A. He loves them, hugs them, helps them, sits in time out with them, builds them a new bed because they learn to climb out of the old one, reaches back to hold their hand in the car if they are crying. He listens to me, actually hears what I say, holds me when I cry, supports me, asks me questions about my past, my present and my dreams. He accepts me and doesn't think of my "baggage" as being "baggage" at all.

He is different from Tim in many ways, but he is exactly what I need right now. What we need.

Maybe lightning does strike twice.

Broad Shoulders

When is it that people start to go away? When do people figure you've got it under control? That you don't need them anymore?

Many widows or widowers can answer this question. It's when you start dating. Maybe that is why I have refrained for talking about that here.... It is certainly not a secret in my "real" life. But in my "real" life, I know who is watching me. Here I don't.

Once that leap of faith into dating is taken, people start to pull away. Mostly the people associated with your spouse, I would guess - their friends, family, co-workers. Maybe it is because it is painful to see you moving forward, a constant reminder that time marches on. Maybe it is because they think this means you are "all better" now. Maybe there is some discomfort thinking that you are "replacing" your lost spouse.

The new man is expected by some to sweep in and repair the pieces of your broken heart while taking on all the responsibilities that your spouse had, that other people had helped with up until now. He is supposed to not only be okay with all these sudden expectations, he should be gracious about it. He should respect your spouse and all the talk of him and all the photos of him on the walls. He should take on some of the fatherly roles but know that he will never be their father. Inside he wonders if he will always feel like second best. It takes some pretty broad shoulders to carry that weight.

The truth is that moving forward does not mean that you love your spouse any less. It doesn't mean that you are leaving that part of your life behind or trying to forget. Moving forward is not the same as moving on - moving forward is just starting a new chapter. It doesn't mean that you want to erase the ones that came before. All it means is that you recognize that you deserve to be happy once again - that your spouse showed you a love so great that even after the heartbreak of losing them, you still believe in love.

I read somewhere that it takes a strong man to handle a broken woman.

When a man dates a widow, he is getting a lot more than he bargained for - a truly broken woman. Women as a species are different from men, and therefore a lot of men have a hard time with them. With a widow, there is a lot of emotional baggage that must be dealt with tenderly, but not so tenderly as to make her think that you think she is weak. Those men are constantly walking the tightrope that is loving a broken woman. This is to be commended. Respected.

I can tell you one thing, I think Tim would respect the hell out of the man who loves me now. And he's got some pretty broad shoulders.

August

Oh, August. Here we are again. You know I hate you. You fill me with dread and cause memories of all of the "lasts" to come flooding back with your heat and your monsoons and your long, golden sunsets. It is as if I am just waiting for you to pass, but I would never wish away time because I know how precious it is.

Truth be told, I even hated that the expiration date on my debit card was this month. I hated having to write it. I hated that my husband expired before my debit card. I hate when people use the word "expired" when referring to a person.

I wonder will there ever be a day when August doesn't fill me with dread? With the 27th of any month come and go unnoticed instead of it marking another month passed since I have seen him, kissed him, held him, talked to him?

A&A are 18 months old right now. Every accomplishment they have had, every step they have taken, every sight they have seen he has not been here to hold their hands through it. To them, Daddy is a photograph. They couldn't identify him across a room by how he walks or his laugh. They don't know what it feels like to be comforted by their Daddy when they get hurt. I still remember what it feels like to be comforted by my dad and I am 33. They will never get that.

At least I still have the memories. I remember our kisses like they happened yesterday - the first kiss and the last kiss. Last week I came out of a meeting and as I was walking to my car, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone to call him. I guess that is just how my mind works. 5 years of telling him everything, of having a best friend who was also my perfect partner - part of me will never be able to let him go.

Now I just have to make it through another August without cracking.

Once Upon A Time: Amazing

Once upon a time, in a land that now feels like a dream, I had the most amazing husband. He knew everything about me and he still loved me. He saw my short temper, he knew what combination of events could make me become emotional. He loved to watch cry movies with me. He respected my friendships. He loved my cats - even the one who hates everyone but me.

The love that we had was unparalleled. He got my twisted humor, he made me laugh, he took pictures with me, he acted serious and silly with me. He knew what to say to get me out of a funk. He was socially ideal, fitting into any social situation he was required to fit into. He thought I was great at everything I did and had no issue telling his friends and fellow officers as much. He was truly at a loss for words when I got dressed up. He would tell me, "Wow..... You look great - you always look great." When we went out, he would say, "Let's go make people jealous". It wan't because he was full of himself, he just believed we were that good together.

I was blessed.

Not many women get to feel that appreciated, that loved.

Because he knew me so well, he always knew what I needed and what I needed to hear. He said the most perfect things to me at the most perfect moments. He never judged me or made me feel like I wasn't good enough. He never made me feel like I was lacking in any way. He did things to make my life better, easier, so that we could spend more time together doing everything or nothing at all.

That is something that most men have not mastered, but Tim, he made me feel good about myself when others had made me feed bad about myself. He was one of those people that just made people around him feel good.

In my grief group, I learned that many widows idealize their husbands after they die. That never happened to me because I idealized my husband in life. I would often tell Tim that he was perfect. He would reply, "I'm not perfect - I'm just perfect for you."

I guess everyone has flaws. His only flaw was that he picked at his toenails. Really. That was it.

I like to think that I have not used my experience with Tim to set expectations, but I do know that above all else he showed me how he thought I deserved to be treated.