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. 

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

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.

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.

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.

It's Gonna Be Packed

"It's gonna be paaacked."

I heard those words weekly from Tim. It's what he would say to make sure we got to the movies early enough for his liking. If it were not, in fact, "packed", I would give him a little bit of a hard time. Something along the lines of, "Well, I am glad we got here in time so that these other 7 people didn't take all the good seats!" And we would laugh as we watched the same ads 3 or 4 times.

Before we started dating, I hadn't seen a movie in the theater in a couple years. Before that it had been a few years. I just wasn't much into it.

On our first date, I learned that he was very into movies. We had gone to dinner and were finally leaving the restaurant after about 3 hours of talking. I really didn't want to go home and I saw there was a theater right there, so I asked if he would like to see a movie. He was thrilled. Thrilled enough to see a movie he'd already seen at least once.

He taught me a lot about movies starting with that first date:
- Get your tickets at the machine because it is quicker.
- Always bring your Harkins cups and popcorn shirt.
- Never wear the shirt. Leave it in the shrink wrap and put it in your purse or pocket.
- Get 4 napkins per person - 2 for your buttery fingers and 2 for your cup. Unless it's a sad movie, then grab some extras.
- Fold the napkins for your cup to make a square. Put it around the bottom of your cup to keep it from sweating on you.
- Sit on the end in case you have to get up and go to the bathroom.
- Eat your Goobers by sucking off all the chocolate first.
- Dump your cup on the way out of the theater. Rinse it out in the bathroom.
- Popcorn gets eaten first. Candy can not be opened until the movie begins.

For a while after Tim died, the smell of popcorn had me in tears and nearly in a panic attack. Silly, right? It's just popcorn. But it wasn't something that I smelled a lot before he came into my life - it was a smell I associated with just him, like his cologne.

I forced myself into seeing a movie a few months after he was gone. Then another one a few months later. It wasn't until recently that I realized how much I really missed going to the movies. Yes, I missed holding Tim's arm as I sat there, but now just being there didn't make me sad, it made me happy that I'd had him to show me the ropes, and that someday I will be able to show A&A how it's done.

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.

Separation Anxiety

When Ayla & Anson were born, part of me was sad because I had caused them to be separated. All they had even known was to be warm and snuggled up together, and yet here they were, out in the big, crewel world and SEPARATED. 

When we got home from the hospital, they slept in a rocking cradle in my room together. It was right next to my bed so that I could reach my fingers in and pat them as they fell asleep. I could reach over and scoop them up when they cried in the night.

Soon they grew too big to both fit in the cradle. It was time for them to move into their own room. The trouble was it was on the other side of the house. I took comfort in going in and looking at them still nestled into one crib, still having each other, even if their Mommy was practically in a different zipcode.





Eventually, history repeated itself and they became too big to share a crib. They were sleeping restlessly and kicking one another. Putting them into 2 cribs did not break my heart too much because they are right next to each other and they enjoyed the freedom to roll around in their own space while still keeping an eye on the other. The great joy of my mornings was waking up to the sounds of them talking to each other and practicing their words together, throwing blankets and toys overboard and laughing together.

Now, the time has come for them to go into their own rooms. I always knew that I wanted this step to happen before I started getting "gender questions" and I thought that, like most things, I would "just know" when the time was right. Well, that time is now. There are important transitions afoot - Anson is still taking a binky at night and I would like him to stop, but it seems unfair to subject Ayla to his crying. Ayla is showing curiosity about the potty. With potty training comes the realization that she and brother are plumbed differently. It's just time.

The thought of my little loves being this grown up chokes me up.

Single Mom

When I was pregnant, I wanted to take a child-birth class before I had the babies. I looked into it. It was the first time I had to deal with being a "single mom".

I didn't want to go sit in a class full of mommies and daddies happily expecting their little bundles of joy, looking into each other's eyes twinkling with excitement and hope for the future. In fact for many months, couples made me very uncomfortable. Even couples I love very much.

Instead I was offered to go to the single mom's child-birthing class.

But I didn't fit in there either.

Instead I skipped it all together and counted on my mom and my friend Shannon to get me through labor. They did fine, I made it through, and after 26 hours I ended up with a c-section anyway, so it really didn't matter.

The point is: I am not a "single parent". I mean, I am, but I am widowed, which is different. Drastically different.

I know that there are a million scenarios when it comes to parenting, and some of what I am about to say might not be entirely fair, but I'm going to say it anyway.

In a typical divorced, single parent set-up there are a few things that happen:

You, your husband or both of you made a decision to end your marriage.
You fought over possessions and debt. You got the couch, he got the TV, you split the AmEx bill.
A "parenting time" plan was set in place, as was child support and alimony where applicable.
You argue with your former spouse about pick-up and drop-off times, general parenting decisions and even money matters. You think he/she is a jerk.
You realize that it's hard being a single parent when there is nobody to pick up the slack around the house or with the kids.
You struggle with guilt and end up getting relaxed on rules and maybe even trying to be the "favorite" parent by letting your kids get away with more then your former spouse.

When people tell me they know how hard it is to be a single parent, the little voice inside my head wants to scream. The only person who knows what it is like for me is another widowed parent.

I didn't make a decision to end my marriage - my husband was stollen from his family against his will.
I got everything. That means I got to keep the bed we used to sleep in, the couch we used to snuggle on and the dinner table we used to sit around. I also got the AmEx bill.
When Divorced Dad is coming by Wednesdays and every other weekend to take the kids, you may not like every decision he makes, but you are getting a break. You can have cereal for dinner, go out with your friends, work on a project - whatever you want. You are getting some time.

 I get time one of 2 ways - either I ask a favor of a friend or family member or I pay a babysitter. And they are making $10-14 and hour these days. Ouch. I shell out for a break once a week for 4 hours. And I earned those 4 hours. The other 164 hours a week, I am on-duty.

I can't tell you what I would give to be divorced from Tim. I saw how he was as a dad and as an ex-husband and it was pretty admirable. He got along with his ex-wife and was still able to be a phenomenal Dad to his daughter. I would love the opportunity to be divorced from him for the simple fact that it would mean A&A could still have him, even if I couldn't.

Yes, it is hard being a single parent. I get that. You know what sucks even worse? Not having an ex to complain about.

A Good Drill

The batteries were drained before he was. He knew. I remember him saying something to me about needing to get new ones. Of course that, along with everything else, took a back seat when he started feeling sick.

It really didn't matter much until lately, because I didn't need to use his drill. I have an old corded one, and it was getting me by okay. Tools were one of the things that we combined and kept duplicates when we got married. Because can you really have too many screwdrivers? Nope.

After the um-teenth time of dragging that old thing out and looking for the extension cord that I distinctly remember buying at the 99cent store when I was 19, I'd had it. I put the batteries for Tim's drill in my car and added replacing them to my to-do list.

Today, after weeks of hearing them roll around under my seat, the kids and I went to Home Depot to pick up a few things, including the replacement batteries. Their double cart didn't have seat belts, but that didn't stop us. Ayla sat in the seat of a regular cart and Anson manned the basket. Even though he had to be constantly reminded to stay seated. Even though she started crying. Even though he wanted to launch his sippy cup at every opportunity.

A helpful employee approached as I stood dumbfounded in the tool corral. (That is what they call it, right?) Obviously a dad, he started asking questions and fetching sippy cups. (3 kids, for the record... all boys. One still using a sippy cup.) What were the batteries for? (A drill. And another thing that is in the box with the drill.) Was it purchased at Home Depot? (I'm not sure.) How long ago was it purchased? (Um, I'm not sure....) Is it your drill? (No. Yes. Well, it was my husband's drill. He passed away. It is probably 10 years old or so. It's my drill now and the batteries won't hold a charge and I am ready to use it, so I need it to work.)

These are the conversations that get weird. There are things I don't bother telling people who don't need to know. When strangers in stores approach me about the kids and say "your husband must be so proud!" I just nod and assure them he is. When people ask what my husband does for work, I just tell them he is a detective. It only makes them feel awkward for trying to be friendly if I tell them the whole truth. So I feel okay telling half-truths.

Helpful Employee told me he was sorry and set off on his personal mission to make all things right in my power-tool world. As it turned out, they no longer carry replacement batteries for the drill. He looked online until he found them for us and even scampered off to find 2 toy hammers that he gave to A&A as a gift. (A little brand placement in early childhood is always good, right?)

That guy made my day better.

And I know that Tim would be happy that I found batteries for the drill rather than getting a new drill. As he would say, "It's a good drill".