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.

Brave

Yesterday I drove the kids 2 hours north to visit Tim's mom & dad at their house. I haven't done many solo car rides in the last 2 years - for one it is hard with the 2 kids. Also, the music in the car can sometimes trigger emotions in me.

On this trip, I borrowed a car that gets better gas mileage than mine. I had no way to hook up my ipod. That meant no "safe" playlists. Radio stations all faded the farther we got from home. The one that remained was a "top 40" type station that I wouldn't normally listen to, but it was better than the deafening silence with A&A dozed off in the back.

I heard a song twice on that ride. The chorus says, "I want to see you be brave." I didn't hear any of the other lyrics.

Brave.

That brought back a flood of memories in a quick flash that left me with tear stained cheeks.

Although I think that battling cancer brought out the absolute best in Tim, I never, ever want to see anyone else I love "be brave". I don't want them to need to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That last week is a blur. There are parts that stand out, but the lack of sleep, the stressful pregnancy, Tim's nausea and vomiting.... it is a blurred mess.

One of his best friends since childhood had gotten into the habit of coming to see him every day. I liked that, because there were others of his friends who didn't come - couldn't come - didn't want to come. Having him visit with Tim made me happy.

Until one day that last week.

He always asked me about Tim's blood counts and asked for very specific information. At some point that week it occurred to me why he was asking. His wife is an oncological nurse. Then it hit me why he was here every day. Because they thought Tim was dying.

This occurred to me in the middle of the day as I sat in the den working on the computer and as Tim sat on the couch watching a movie and waiting to throw up. I sat in the den and cried and cried until I could cry no more. I felt the weight of a thousand elephants on my chest. I felt like my head was going to explode. I was just sick.

I slipped quietly into our bedroom and washed my face, put in some eye drops and put on a little makeup so Tim wouldn't know I'd been crying.

I needed to be close to him. I came out into the living room to sit so close to him I was almost on top of him. Immediately he asked me what was wrong. I could never fool him - he read me like a book.

"I'm scared, " I admitted as he gathered me even closer to hold me. "Aren't you ever scared?"

In the voice of a man so weak that he chose his words carefully as not to exhaust himself, Tim said, "I'm not sacred. I'm brave."

I can hear him speaking those words in my mind at will. It is both haunting and comforting. It rips my heart out and it makes me so, so proud.

Tim was braver than I could ever be, braver than anyone I have ever known. He was brave enough for all of us and used his energy to love and protect those he cared about. He fought to the very end to educate men about prostate cancer so that no man would have to go through what he did.

That is true bravery. Bravery that I hope the young girl singing that song knows nothing about. Bravery like I hope to never experience or witness again.

Time

I can't tell you how many times I have heard the phrase, "Time heals all wounds". While that may be true for physical wounds, it is not true for me in my grief.

I think of my grief as a box. It is made of very heavy metal. It looks a lot like Tim's urn. The edges of it are extremely sharp- like razor blades. Everywhere I go, the box is tumbling alongside nearby. I can not escape it. Sometimes I think I am free of it, if only for a few hours. Then it comes out of nowhere and cuts me open with it's razor edges, reopening wounds that I thought had healed, creating new ones, and leaving me a mess.  It takes awhile to feel like I am stable.

As time goes on, the box is always there.

Silently tumbling beside me, behind me.... never far away.

Over time, the edges are less sharp, and I learn to expect it to come out and hurt me. I know what can trigger it and I either avoid or brace myself for it. Sometimes I even spend so much time anticipating the pain it is going to cause me that the anticipation is worse than the hurt it actually inflicts.

As the edges begin to dull, the cuts are less frequent, less deep. Instead it is like blunt force trauma. Being punched in the gut and the air knocked out of me. Being hit in the head and having a headache for a day or two. Having my heart being stomped on and spending days being embarrassingly emotionally vulnerable.

I think that no matter where life leads me, there will always be this box following me around. Anyone who knows me or dares to love me will have to deal with the effects it has on me. It is like my own shadow - part of me. A stark contract to the bounce in my step and happy time when Tim was here beside me.

I think that those who chose not to face their grief head-on are denying themselves something important. Placing their grief in it's own rightful box and burying it so deep within themselves that even they aren't sure it exists. They feel that "time" has healed them, when in fact there has been no healing, only refusal to face the devastating reality that, well, life isn't fair. At all.

Time, for me, doesn't heal. The pain, it changes. I learn to expect it, I learn the best ways to deal with it, but grief is an ongoing process. One that will likely last my lifetime. My love for Tim and my grief over losing him are part of the fabric of my being, and neither time, nor space, nor separation will change that.

Planned Grief

I don't believe in planned grief. I have spent the last 8 1/2 months avoiding lists of the "grief stages" not because I am avoiding grief but because I want to feel things organically. I am a list maker - a checklist kind of girl. I never wanted to see my feelings as some sort of a checklist to get through, and I was afraid that if I saw a list of stages I would force myself through them and come out on the other side still as broken as I began.

Instead, I spent months not really dealing with my feelings because I was afraid I would harm our babies as they grew and developed inside me. Then I spent weeks adjusting to having 2 little humans in my care. People told me I was strong. Only a few knew who really weak and vulnerable I was actually feeling. Finally, after several melt-downs, I decided to seek out a grief group.

I am surprised how much talking to other people who have lost their spouses has helped me. Hearing their stories, often similar to ours, has helped me to see that I am not alone in what I am feeling. Talking about the things that play over and over in my mind has helped to send those visions, questions and fears to the back of my mind instead of having them ever-present and interrupting my daily thoughts. I expected to hate a group setting like that, but I was wrong.

There is still a shelf full of self-help books on our bookshelf that I may never crack open. I may never be able to hear certain songs without crying and I may never be able to hear a man walking fast in leather flip flops without my heart skipping a beat. I know there will never be a day when I am "over it" - I think one never forgets true love and one never forgets a loss so intense - but maybe I am learning to live with the sadness I feel. Maybe one day the sun will shine on me and I will laugh and actually feel happiness.

I don't feel happy right now. I still struggle with the day-to-day, but I can now imagine a time when I might enjoy life again.

A Rose By Any Other Name

We got our first run at naming when we got Kaiser. We made a list of possibilities and over Mexican food and margaritas we narrowed it to 3 options. Within a couple of days we had decided and Kai's name is one we both liked a lot. Seemed easy enough.

Shortly thereafter, Tim & I starting accumulating another list of names - this time for the child we hoped to have soon. Because our reproductive process took so long, our list was added to and purged from for a year and a half. When we were not together, we would text each other ideas and commentary. Those that we both liked were added to the ongoing list.

I am frequently asked how we came up with the kids' names.

"Ayla" made it's way onto the list early. Ayla is the name of a nurse at our old vet's office. I saw it on her name tag and asked her about it. She loved her name, as did Tim and I... it stayed st the top of the list. Of course, once we knew we were having twins, we had to make sure we had 2 girl names and 2 boy names ready to go. Innitially, Ayla's middle name was to be Angeline, a combination of my mom's name (Anne) and my Aunt's name (Eileen). Our second girl name was "Ruby". Because Tim's parents often give everyone the joking middle name James, we talked about her middle name being a slightly more feminine version: "Jaymes".

An early addition to the boy's name list was "Rhett", chosen by me after a singer I like, Rhett Miller, and also because my mom dreamed while she was pregnant with me that she was having twin boys. One was to be named Barret and called Rhett.

Early in the pregnancy, we knew we were expecting twins. I began searching for a blog written by a mom of twins to read. I guess I just wanted confirmation that it could be done! I stumbled on Jodi's blog during my google search, enjoyed her writing and never looked back. She often talks highly of her wonderful husband, Anson... that's how his name bumped Rhett into the 2nd position.

We had planned to use just an innitial as the boy's middle name: "J.".  We didn't have a contingency plan for middle names if it were 2 boys. We always blindly assumed it was a girl and a boy.

I added Tim's name, "Timothy" as an executive decision knowing that Tim would be honored to have his son carry it as his middle name. There was no doubt that Ayla was "Ayla James", using her daddy's middle name as her own. She is feminine enough without altering the spelling to girly it up.

I'm so proud to call Tim my husband and so proud that our kids can carry his name with them throughout their long, healthy lives.

Names that made the list, but didn't make the cut:
Drake
Leah
Beau
Rhett
Vance
Donovan
Stella
Katherine
Ruby
Evan

Obsessing? Me?

Now that I have a firm date in my mind about when the babies will arrive, some things are happening.

I am assembling, organizing, cleaning and obsessing over things that don't need to be obsessed over. Like whether my camera is good enough to photograph them. If there is too much dust on the baseboards. Whether it is crazy to shave Kaiser so he doesn't shed near them. (Yea, he wasn't wild about that idea either....)

I am going over and over the mental list of the things to remember at the hospital. Take the baby CPR class they offer. Learn to swaddle because when I've tried, the doll I used looked like a baggy burrito. Make sure Mom gets photos of their first bath. Do you think I could teach her to run video on the camera? Probably not, she still stumbles through checking the voicemail on her blackberry. Pictures, lots of pictures. Don't forget all the tips and tricks I learned about breast feeding. Which lactation consultant was it I was supposed to avoid?

Months back, people started suggesting that I take a Lamaze class or some other kind of birth class. I couldn't. I just couldn't go there with all the other moms and dads and pretend everything was okay. I was told there are special classes for single moms and their coaches and I wanted to scream, "I'M NOT SINGLE!!!" So, here I am, 3 days from the Big Day and I have no idea how to have a baby other than what I have read in books and watched on cable. I keep assuring myself that I'll have Mom there and she knows things. And my wonderful friend Shannon will be there and she knows even more things. This should be a comfort to me, and in most moments it is.

In the other moments it isn't and I get frustrated and sad and I feel jipped because my best cheerleader and the one person who knows how to handle all of my million moods doesn't get to talk me through this. Instead, I have to do what I'm growing more accustomed to doing: I have to 'just know' what he would say and know that he is there watching and looking out for me, even if nobody can see him.

Every real-feeling contraction has me thinking this could be it and I'll be out of time to get done all the tings I need to get done. ("Need" is relative here.)

I should go clean the fridge because I don't want our kids coming into a house with old mustard in the fridge.....

Discussing Maternity Photographs

I love photographs.

In high school, I remember going with a friend to the photo lab so that he could work on a project over our lunch break. That day something happened inside me. I fell in love with the process of creating everlasting images.

The following semester, I signed up for a photography class. By the next semester, I was taking photography for half my school day, I was living and breathing film and the beautiful chemical smell of the darkroom. It was the first thing for which I received so many accolades, compliments and awards. I was finally good at something. People were noticing me. I had a talent.

Over the years, I have almost stopped taking artistic photographs - now my photos are nothing more than good snapshots, but I still have a love for good photography, particularly portraits.

Throughout Tim's and my relationship, I have taken a lot of photos. Those pictures capture our memories, our time together, our adventures, our falling in love. Moments of happiness frozen in time. Tim and I had some great engagement pictures done. When we were married, the photographer and the food were the 2 most important things about the wedding to us.

I had always thought that when we were pregnant, we would have maternity photos taken. I had looked at them with envy - the dad looking lovingly at mom's belly full of their upcoming baby. I had seen friends post them on Facebook, I had seen them all over the internet and even in picture frames on so-worker's desks. It was a happy thought: that would be us some day.

....TO BE CONTINUED.....

Breathe In, Breathe Out....

This was my third week having 2 doctor visits per week. On Tuesdays we go to my OB's office for a BPP Test. There an ultrasound is done to make sure the babies are moving around appropriately, that the amniotic fluid is intact and that the kids are practicing their breathing.

This week, the ultrasound tech at my usual office was off for the day, so I went to another of their offices. It was a little closer, a lot newer and the waiting room had better magazines. Let's just say they are lucky I love the staff at my usual office or a permanent switch may have happened.

The BPP went perfectly. Both babies were super cooperative and anxious to show off their skills. Anson had himself wedged in there in such a way that we couldn't really see his head, much less his little face. Ayla, however, was very visible, which is unusual for her. The tech clicked on her little face and zoomed in. Clicked again, and there was my pretty little girl in 3D. I had no idea her machine had that capability and the tears just started flowing. She took several photos for me as we watched Ayla practicing breathing and sucking. 

                                          Ayla at 34 weeks (Are those Mama's chubby cheeks?)

I was lucky enough to get to see Anson in 3D a some time ago, but Ayla was hiding that day and I've often wondered what it would have been like to get a sneak peek of them both.  

                                           Anson at 24 weeks (Looks like Daddy's movie star chin!)

Some great mysteries still remain and I'm so excited to meet them in person and watch them grow up into the amazing people I know they will be. 

Just Nod If You Can Hear Me

Recently, I read a blog where the author was calling it quits. In his final entry he writes that he has always believed blogs to be vehicles for sharing things that are out of the ordinary. I guess in my opinion that is true to some degree. Each of the blogs that I read has something to offer that is a little out of the ordinary for me, something that has captivated my interest.

I think about why I started this blog - because Tim was on his way to health and because I wanted to document our life, our journey, our future. Maybe our lives were ordinary, but I always believed that our love was much more than ordinary. We both did. Maybe that is what made me feel entitled to write about it, maybe it was just to keep our far away friends and family in the loop with our lives beyond medically. Mostly it was just for us - for me - to record memories.

Some days I wonder who is reading this blog. I know that some of our family reads. I know that a few friends read. I've had the occasional acquaintance tell me that they read. I stopped counting countries that have read this blog when I got to 20. I only know people in 5 countries. It's a strange feeling to me. Some days hundreds of people read the words that come out of me and I wonder who they are? How did they get here? Do I know them? I don't think we know that many people really.

It makes me wish I had something profound to say, something to create change, to inspire someone somewhere, but I don't. Instead all I have is our journey to share: amazing, tragic, beautiful, special or ordinary....

Changes

I'm writing this from the body of a woman in her 26th week of pregnancy. There are parts of this body that I recognize, but those parts are few. It seems that everything from my eyes to my toes has undergone a transformation.

This is not a complaint, in fact I have enjoyed watching these changes to an extent. (Yes, I am still lathering on lotions and potions all over my tummy to avoid any lasting reminders of this transformation!)

When I was first pregnant and I "thought" I was showing , Tim and I stopped by the Motherhood maternity store in the mall so that I could buy a shirt or 2 from their clearance rack. I went into their dressing room and discovered something new to me. In there they have a baby bump pillow with a velcro strap to wrap around your tummy so that you look more pregnant while trying on clothes. I laughed and put it on before stepping out to show Tim the top I was trying on. He choked up and patted my "belly" and talked about how he was so excited. Every week he marveled at my changing figure and he was loving it. He would talk to the babies and I would make voiced back saying "hi, daddy!"

Every change that is happening, I know he is watching us, but I so wish that he was here to talk to my growing belly, snuggle me in bed and kid me about my expanding boobs. On the days I feel less than attractive, I imagine hearing him say, "You look great. You always look great" as he often did. Nobody knows what I need to hear like Tim.

The thing I am enjoying most right now is feeling the babies move. We often talked about how cool it would be to be able to see them moving inside me. Although I'm not quite to that stage, I think back to the evenings we spent watching video after video on youtube of babies feet sliding across mommy's swollen bellies and dreaming of the day that it would be us.

Last night I started wondering if Tim can see the babies inside me. I know that thinking too much might not be productive, but I just can't help it. I have so many questions and no answers.

Who are you reading?

I can see there are people reading here - over 200 on a weekend day when I have not posted anything. (I didn't even realize I knew that many people! Huh...)  Most of the bloggers that I follow don't post much on weekends, and since all my days run together now, I'd love to have something to read on this Sunday afternoon.

So share with me, who are you reading? Link me to them below in the comments section. Extra points for writers with wit and a heavy dose of sarcasm and a touch of nostalgia.

To check out some of the blogs I follow, look on the right side of this page under "My Blog List". Some great ladies and one funny guy who rarely posts anymore.

Have a happy rest of your weekend :-)