New Year. New Everything.

Jan 1, 2013. Fabulous hats. Bright new year.

2013 is just about to slip away, and I barely noticed the past two months.

That's not a bad thing, I don't think there has been much to notice. I've hibernated, I've put off doing things that I know I should have begun, I've spent vast amounts of that time watching TV, or sitting in front of the computer with a half dozen tabs open, checking pages every few minutes to see if there have  been changes. Has anything happened here? Refresh. No? On to the next tab then. Why isn't anyone online? Do these people have lives or something? Geez!

I have done exactly what I was talking about in one of the previous posts. I've time traveled my way through November and December. It's okay. I needed to. I might still do that for a while. There are still things to binge-watch on Netflix.

Sometime sent me a note last week to say they hope I'm getting through this, and I realized that for the first time I'm beginning to believe I will. It wasn't that I never believed I could until last week, it was that I didn't care, I really didn't. Oh, I've tried to talk a good game about all of the plans I have, about following Jeff's advice, being in the moment, not allowing my mind chatter to get the better of me... but really? For the entirety of November and for a large chunk of December, probably right up through Thursday or Friday, I really didn't care. For the first few weeks every time I woke up I was disappointed that I had woken up because there was nothing, not one single thing, that I could find to look forward to.

Now, well, maybe the world isn't quite as dark as it was.  This is not to say that I have suddenly emerged on the other side of the tunnel and am filled with fresh new hope for the future, I'm still far from that. I'm still having the awful mood swings, the sobbing fits, the experience of walking into a room and feeling astonished that he's not there. But the other day there were a few little passing moments where I realized that I do care about the future, just a little. There are things I look forward to. Things I want to see, do, and experience. Places I want to go. People I want to meet. Friends to visit. It may not seem like realizing this was a big step, but for me this felt like a huge revelation.

So here I am, getting ready to begin a new year on my own. I don't usually make a list of resolutions, but there are things I'll try to do this year. I know I'll slip backwards more often than not, I'll fall in and out of bad habits. I'll battle with my anxiety about the future every day. I'll cry, complain, whine, and feel miserable because I miss Jeff so much it makes my stomach hurt. But I will also find joy and fun in little things. I'll try to reach out more to people, something I've always been extremely afraid of doing because I'm convinced I'm being a bother. I'll chatter constantly about whatever pops into my head and share whatever pastime I become obsessed with until I drive all of my online friends completely insane and they begin to wish my internet would fail. I'll set goals that are so far beyond my reach that they're just silly but I'll cherish them anyway, and I'll realize that others are more attainable than I'd imagined. I hope I'll surprise myself.

I have no idea what's going to happen in 2014 and I'm terrified, but maybe, just maybe, there will be a little more light in my life.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

Christmas morning

I've really managed to avoid Christmas for the most part. I've stayed in the house, I don't decorate, I don't have friends inviting me over or a large extended family that is celebrating all month. That's made it a lot easier, it means there aren't all of these events that I went to with Jeff that I have to deal with solo this year. It's the same old sitting in the house alone sort of week that I had for all of November and December. But even so it's not as if I can ignore the holiday entirely and pretend it's just Wednesday.

If it hadn't happened he'd have woken me up this morning with a kiss, just because it was Christmas and he'd have thought I'd like it. We'd not have done anything special but whatever it was, we'd have done it together. I lit a candle beside his pic, I wished him a merry Christmas. I would give anything in the whole world to be held in his arms.

I appreciate all of the Christmas wishes I get from people, I know they love me. I appreciate the hugs, but I never want to let go. I just want to cling to people until I feel like I'm going to start to cry, but I don't want to make their holiday sad so I collect myself and let go and try to smile.

And I wish that I could experience one of those heartwarming Christmas miracles like you see in the movies. Sometimes I wonder if they are already happening all around me and I am just not ready to see them yet.

I love you Jeff. Merry Christmas to you.

Messages

This is one of those stories that people would be sure is fiction, and although the first half of it was cool enough that I thought I'd share on Facebook, the latter half left me just a little freaked out and certain if I posted that part people would just shake their head and say "Yeah, you made that part up." But no, it's real. It's one of those really rare wild coincidence stories that happen now and then. Or maybe it's something more... either way, I thought I'd put it down here because I wanted to write it out, exactly as it unfolded.

So here I sat tonight, watching YouTube videos on the TV. I was alternately looking at the computer and the TV, getting ready to respond to a note on Facebook, and occasionally chattering about the video to Jeff's picture. In other words, fairly average night for the past few days. Then something colorful on the floor caught my eye and I looked over to see what that was.

In the middle of the floor, near the front door, was a little pink paper heart. I sort of remembered cutting it out from one of the small size pink post it notes, probably back around Valentine's Day. I'm not even sure what I did with it after that, I think I had made a few, this might have been stuck to Jeff's laptop, or stuck to my desk, or stuck to something. But wherever it had been I hadn't seen it in months, and since it was a bit of a throwaway idea I'd forgot all about it.

Now here it is, a little pink heart unfolded and quite pristine, and laying on the carpet. Obviously I picked up something that it was attached to and it fell off and fluttered into place where I noticed it. I've moved stuff around all day, I don't know what this was stuck to, but I suspect it had hitched a ride. I thought it was really cool, though, a neat little thing to find, a memory, and sort of like a little kiss from Jeff. I stuck the heart to the monitor and smiled at it, wrote a little Facebook post, and was happy.

Fast forward fifteen minutes or so. I was telling a few other people my cute heart story and getting ready to put the paper heart into a frame with Jeff's photo. I opened the lap drawer on my desk to get something that I could use to slide the heart under the glass and the first thing I see, right in the front of the drawer, is a folded up pink sticky note, with a heart shape cut out of it.

Now this drawer is a mess. I've cleaned it out a bit lately, but it's still a mess, full of old paper, junk, empty pens, more junk, and pretty much anything I wanted to scrape off the top of my desk. I move things around in it constantly, earlier I had shuffled it to and fro looking for USB cords. I don't recall seeing the pink note then, although I could have tossed it all over the place and not paid attention.

Now, just after I find the heart, here is a paper with a heart outline. Okay. Coincidence, right? I held it up and it is indeed the exact paper that the heart came from. Logically this is still just one of those rare events where it's totally explainable as random chance, but still astonishing when it happens.

But there is that part of me that feels like it is a little nudge from Jeff, a message to me. He's with me. He really is.

Infinite Time

I thought we'd have more time. More time for vacations. More time for photos. More time to live our lives to the fullest and make our dreams come true.

treasured time

I feel like my life was interrupted and just isn't back on track yet. I look at my phone and expect to see a text from him. I wonder, briefly, if he's left work. He always called when he was on his way home, to give me a ETA in case I needed to start dinner, and just to talk about the day. I miss him calling in the middle of the afternoon because he'd had a sudden idea about some project we could start and he was so excited he had to tell me right away. I continue to expect to find him somewhere in the house, standing in the kitchen or sitting on the couch watching TV. I have a hard time moving things around because in the back of my head there's a voice saying "No, he might still need to use this." I miss his physical presence in my life.

 I miss being wrapped up in his hugs.

 I'm thinking about him constantly. I find the happy few minutes every day, but I'm hit with chest crushing, screaming, pounding my fists on the floor grief at unpredictable moments. I look at photos that span the past few years, from our first date to just a few days before he died, and in all of them he is so alive, so present, so full of hope and dreams and goals for the future. It feels impossible that he isn't here to carry out his plans. I cry when I think of the things he was planning to learn, because he will not have that chance now.

I miss hearing him talk about all of his ideas for the future. I miss laying in bed and talking about what we hoped we'd do in the coming years. I miss that so much that I'm constantly fighting off the feeling that if he isn't here to help visualize our hopes and dreams and goals then there's no point in dreaming big, it's easier to just give up and accept a mundane life and never try anything new again.

A friend had mentioned things he'd hoped we could all still do together, and commented that this reminds us that our time here is brief. I agree. I'd always believed there would be time, endless amounts of it, to be together, to enjoy each other's company. Time felt infinite in relation to all of our goals. There would always be time to plan for things, time to learn new skills, time to work on hobbies, time to pursue our dreams and make them come true. And of course if there is always time to do something tomorrow then there's no need to worry about it today. A belief in infinite time fed our procrastination, even though we vowed to make changes they would always be for another day. Today would be spent watching a movie or two, or surfing for another hour, or doing nothing in particular until it's time to fall asleep.

Jeff called this time traveling. Rise in the morning, do your work, eat, watch TV, go to sleep. Repeat the same routine every day without varying it, never trying to break free of that pattern, and never feeling as though you've accomplished anything. We each spent a lot of time doing this, moving through the day without making any attempt to work on our plans. This was what we wanted to break free of. We wanted to stop traveling through time and start living in it.

The desire to wait until tomorrow to start something is very strong in me, and this will be a hard lesson to work on. Between the two of us we had a lot of things we hoped to accomplish, a lot of dreams we thought we could make come true for ourselves. Some of those I will continue to hold, some will be replaced by new goals and dreams as I try to rebuild my own life from the ground up. Some will always remain daydreams, but some are attainable if I am willing to put in the time and effort to pursue them.

As I sit here Jeff is gazing at me from a dozen different frames, smiling gently, encouraging me. I'm going to try to manifest the optimism we had that we would one day be doing great things, but now I will try to couple it with action. Optimism is lovely, but unless I take action I won't accomplish much. I have high hopes that in six months I'll be reporting that I'm well on my way to achieving my goals. Time will tell. Hopefully I will make good use of it.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

Notes from Day 40

I spent some time merging the posts from my other coping blog into this one. Not to eliminate anything, I'd rather keep this, I like the idea of being able to share my thoughts a little more deeply here than on the other, where I provided links to family. And it's not so much that I don't want to share it with anyone else, it's more that I don't need to continuously generate pats on the back and sad smiles. And also, maybe that blog will become more of a self help general etc and this will be more of a journal. I don't know. Talking to myself.

And meanwhile, I keep printing off little photos and putting them everywhere, and I keep reaching up to touch my little thumbprint charm. and people saying "Oh I hope that is comforting, that's so lovely, what a nice memory." And it is sort of comforting, I guess. I reach up, I feel connected, just as I do with his wedding ring, which I haven't taken off since that night.

But really? I'm nowhere near the stage where memories are comforting. For a couple of days I was sort of evened out, I wasn't having any major breakdowns, then all of a sudden it hit me hard, as if it had just happened and I fell apart and screamed and cried like a banshee. Really, that bad. That seems to have hit every evening this week, usually with no warning. I've read a number of grief blogs and forums and I realize that I'm not alone in how I feel, I see the same emotions expressed by many other people. That doesn't make it easier, but I guess there is some comfort in knowing that it is part of the long process.

The sense that it can't be real carries on forever, I think. Some days it just seems more overwhelmingly powerful than others.

Day 40. Wow. I don't know how.

Thumbies, Bills, and Rollercoasters

Grief seems, so far, to be an unending rollercoaster ride. Just when you think you’ve reached a point where you’re feeling okay you find yourself plummeting to the bottom of the hill and into a dark tunnel. I spent a couple of days feeling sort of calm, not good, not happy, but okay. Then last night it all fell apart and I found myself doubled over and wailing and screaming as if I’d just lost him. It took a while but it passed, but I know that devastating, acute grief will come and go and all I can do is allow myself to feel it. So many people assure me that he’s here with me, watching over me, his spirit is ever present. I tell myself that as well. One of these days I will look at a photo or think of a memory and I’ll smile, but I’m not there yet.

I’ve been on the rollercoaster again today. It was fairly up for most of the afternoon, I think of it as the part of the ride where you’re going up and down the tiny hills, it’s a little bumpy but mostly even. The day was feeling a little brighter when I got the call that my Thumbie, the necklace I’d ordered when I was making Jeff’s arrangements, had arrived. The memorial jewelry I’ve seen when assisting with funeral arrangements for others was mostly focused on vials that would contain a sprinkle of your loved one’s ashes. These are still available (and with dozens of new styles to choose from) but I didn’t really feel like going that route. Instead I opted for the Thumbie, where they take a fingerprint from your loved one and make a cast, and then can make jewelry with the fingerprint. I’d encourage anyone who is faced with a loss to consider these, the higher end pieces can be quite expensive but there are a lot of really affordable ones too. In the end will having a necklace with his thumbprint help me through my grief? Well, probably not a lot. But it was nice this afternoon to reach up and touch it and think of him.

My rollercoaster car carried on smoothly for a while longer, until I arrived home to find a bill from the ER visit, from that night, advising that his treatment took place after his insurance was terminated so they were asking for all the cash. Yikes. There goes my coaster car down a steep hill into the dark tunnel of anxiety and worry. Um, no, ER treatment team, he had active coverage right up until he died, which was certainly not prior to his being admitted. I was there, I know. As I recall the ER admissions clerk had assured me I didn’t need to give her any info because he was on file, which I regret not asking about now. I’m going to suspect they couldn’t have up to date data, as he hadn’t been to the hospital or to any physician since he’d changed jobs and insurance a little over a year ago. So I will send their huge bill back to them with the most recent insurance info included and see what happens next. Fingers crossed.

The lesson to be learned here is this: if you go into the ER (or anywhere) don’t assume they have everything they need already. Or at the very least, if they say they’ve got something on file ask them to verify to you what they do have. Might save some work later on.

And as my ups and downs even out again to a relative calm again I’ll go back to reading, and I’ll talk to him. I talk all day, constantly. To his photos, to the air, to the presence that I sometimes think I can feel around me. And I’m still periodically experiencing the feeling that this is all a bad dream. I wonder when that feeling fades. I wonder if that feeling ever fades.

I realize that’s something I’ll find the answer to on my own, with the passage of time. For now I will just hold on to my heart and feel his thumb pressed against my finger.


(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

Hold My Hand Forever

I miss holding his hand.  We held hands whenever we walked anywhere, even if it was just from a parking lot into the store. I miss reaching across the table in a restaurant to take his hand, and the times that he’d rest his hand on my knee as he was driving and I’d put mine in his, as I’d done here. It was one of those safe, secure, warm feelings. I always imagined one day we would be one of those cute little old couples, still holding hands as we walked through a park.

I remember a couple of hours into our first date Jeff had a little thing that he thought he’d try: he held his hand up to me, palm out and said “Could you hold your hand up? I just want to see something.”  And so, of course, I did. I put my hand up to his, palm to palm. He then moved his hand slightly, and laced his fingers through mine. “I just wanted to see how that would feel,” he said.


It felt perfect.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

One Month

November is behind us now. Somehow I’ve gone through a full month without him. I won’t say things have improved, or even changed much, over the past few weeks. The fog hasn’t lifted yet, I’m still caught between worlds in that odd place where I haven’t fully accepted that my life has changed.

A month ago I’d had very different plans for November: We were going to start de-cluttering the house and take control of the years of accumulated stuff. I was going to learn more of his design programs so I could be a bigger help with his freelance work, beyond just doing text editing. We were going to try to build the foundation for a business of our own. We were feeling really optimistic. 2014 was going to be the year we really got our lives in order and set in motion business plans that could carry us through to retirement and beyond. A month ago we were heading for the first day of the rest of our lives.

I had plans for myself as well, I was going to devote some time each day in November to trying to complete the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge. Even if I didn’t expect to finish a book in 30 days I thought it would be fun to try, and it would give me incentive to write every day. As it turns out I think I have written something every day, whether I published here or on another blog, or just wrote privately for myself. This was not what I had in mind, however. This was not the way I wanted to spend November. The universe had other plans for me, clearly.

I’m contemplating tiny goals today. I’ve queued up a few books to read. I finished my re-read of The Power of Now, which I found myself relating to much more this time than I did several years ago. I attribute that to Jeff’s influence, obviously I was paying more attention to him than I’d realized. It made me realize what a challenge I must have been for Jeff, always resisting any change that would bring me closer to a calm mind. I can see how much of an influence my ego mind has on me, even now, but at least now I do recognize it. I still have trouble staying in the present moment, my thoughts are always clinging to the past or worrying over the future, but I’ve gradually gotten better. Not this month, I don’t think I’ve made progress doing anything this month, but over the past few years. I still have a long road ahead, though. It would be wonderful if we could experience instant enlightenment after just a couple of books and a quiet evening, but it’s going to take much more work than that. Currently I’ve just started on Thich Nhat Hanh’s “No Death, No Fear” which is reinforcing and teaching me more about being mindful and present.

I know I will still reflect on the past, but I need to try to let go of the regret and disappointment about the things left undone. That will be hard, but instead of thinking of everything we’d wanted to do as a dream that will never come to pass perhaps it’s time for me to consider what parts of our goals I can hold on to and make my own. Instead of starting off with immediate worry and fear and concluding that I could never do these things, maybe it’s time for me to look at what I can do right now, in the present moment, to prepare.  I’m not yet sure how this will work out, lately I’m lucky if I can go for an hour or so without having a tidal wave of grief wash over me out of the blue, but in those moments where the fog lifts a little I will begin taking my baby steps.

This, I believe, is Jeff’s lesson plan for me this week.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

Day 29

I wandered off a bit, I tried to start another blog that would be more public, shared with friends. With a bit less self reflection. Too much grief seems to freak people out, they start reminding you to look for the bright side, his spirit is with you, little angels dancing around you and bringing you joy. I think the meaning is: I don't know how to make you feel better and so your grief makes me sad too. Don't make me sad, please try to feel happy!

But over here, this feels better to carry on with as the journaling aspect. The occasional vents.

I realize, looking at the last post, that nothing has changed yet. I'm still caught at the bottom of that chasm of grief and I can't imagine that it will get better, at least not yet. Things change, of course, eventually, but it's hard to imagine it.

I have been reading, though. I've reread the Power of Now, which was so important to my husband when he read it. It makes me wonder how he put up with me. What a challenge I must have been to him, to his sense of calm, his no mind moments, his presence. I feel like I must have spent a lot of time dragging him back to unconsciousness, though I think he maintained well. He never gave up on me, he was always sure I'd find my way through the fog. I don't know if I'm ready to be in the present, yet. I recognize thoughts now, maybe that's a first step.

Going through Thich Nhat Hahn's No Death, No Fear, which carries on my quest for learning to be in this moment instead of the past or the future. Up next in the kindle queue is another book about mindful grieving.

Up after that... I can't imagine. I keep looking at old photos and crying more than ever. I find new, cute little things that I want to show him. I still do show him, I talk to him all the time, I say "look!" but it's not the same, it's not the same as hearing his voice, hearing his response, listening to him laugh. I can imagine those things, I can imagine how he'd react, but that's not really enough.

And I still have that profound sense of unreality. That absolute certainty that this is not real, the world around me is not the real world, that I'm somehow caught in a dream state, a hallucination, and if I fight hard enough I will wake up and find him beside me and all will be well. Sometimes it's terrifying how strongly I feel that, and it makes me wonder if I am beginning to lose my mind. I know he is dead, I know his ashes are in that urn that's sitting on the table in the living room. At the same time I know he's not gone, I know he's right here and he's just out of my field of view and I just can't quite figure out how to reach him. I know it to be true just as I know that if I walk into the kitchen I'll see the box of cereal I left out.

I envy those people who say they hear messages, see signs. Even if they are imagining those things, even if it's all self-delusion, it doesn't matter. I would love to have something to cling to.

Day 29. I still can't bear the thought of the world without you.

Am I Thankful?

Thanksgiving has arrived, and I see lots of people making note of what they are thankful for. For the past few years Jeff was at the very top of my list of things I was thankful for, I was so thankful that I had found the love of my life. I was thankful for our health, for our love, for the life that we were building. Everything was a blessing.

This year? To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel thankful. I do feel robbed, cheated, numb, angry, terrified, and heartbroken. Even through the pain I recognize that I have things to be very thankful for. I am not utterly alone, I have friends and family who are  supportive and loving. I may be having a hard time reaching out to take the help that people offer, but I will when I’m ready, and I know I’m surrounded by clouds of good thoughts and prayers. I’m thankful for those. I am thankful for all of my friends and family, even the ones I have only ever ‘met’ online. All of them are more important to me than they can probably imagine.

Today I’m also a little thankful that Jeff and I never really paid much attention to Thanksgiving, so I won’t really feel that I’m missing a big celebration, or even an intimate gathering. But Thanksgiving is only the beginning, I still have a month of festive holiday cheer to deal with.

The holiday season seems to start earlier each year. I was starting to see Christmas decor in stores before Halloween, but it will really be in full swing after Thursday. Fluffy blankets for everybody!I don’t know how I’m going to handle that. While we didn’t go all out decorating at home we had our little holiday things we enjoyed, and I always looked forward to Christmas.I looked forward to the decorations, and the colors. Jeff liked find a way to make presents for people, he thought they held a lot more meaning. I remember our first Christmas was spent trying to sew fluffy blankets for everyone. Okay, Jeff did most of the sewing, but I did cut the material. And every year we’d pick a night and drive around to look at Christmas lights, and mark the best ones on the GPS so we could remember them from year to year. It was the little things that I looked forward to so much. Big fancy celebrations didn’t mean a lot, it was the little touches that I will miss.

This year I find myself dreading the season and the imagery of happy family gatherings, festive songs, good will and holiday cheer. While everyone else decks their halls and enjoys the Christmas music I’m still suspended in that strange, heavy fog where I feel like I’m not connected to this world, where it’s all still so surreal that there’s no way it’s actually happening and I want to scream for someone to please just wake me up. Where I look at a photo and cry for a half hour, and repeat that several times a day. Did you know that if you cry constantly you begin to feel like you’ve developed a permanent sinus congestion headache? You do.

I remember in years past I’d occasionally hear about someone who lost a loved one near the holiday, and I always felt awful for them. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like.  Now that I am facing it I can’t imagine how I will make it through the month. This will be a month of discovery as I try to work through this and find coping strategies. I’m not sure what they’ll be, Perhaps I’ll pester people on Facebook. Read. I found my art pencils so maybe I’ll attempt to draw, or at least doodle. (Hopefully the self portrait with an artichoke doodle from two posts ago will not be the pinnacle of my artistic endeavors).

I’m still taking each day on a moment by moment basis, and I am thankful that people are allowing me the time to work through this and allowing me to feel what I need to feel. And I am thankful that they are sending me their good thoughts and love and light.

In turn, my wish for all of my friends and family is for a wonderful Thanksgiving. Thank you for being here for me.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

What Would Jeffrey Do

I've spent a lot of my life being worried, anxious, and afraid of the future. Most of it, really. It comes in part from my mother, I’m sure, she was a chronic worrier, so I grew up always afraid of what could go wrong.

Jeff, on the other hand, was the calmest, least worried person I've ever known. His goal in life was to live each day as if it was the only important moment, just focusing on life in the present. Not long before we met he’d read the book “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle and it profoundly impacted the way he would come to view the world, and the philosophy of his life. It is the foundation of his belief that one needs to live in the present moment, that dwelling on things that happened in the past, and worrying over what might happen in the future, served no purpose except to possibly keep you unhappy.

Although everyday anxieties and worry can slip into almost anyone’s thoughts, Jeff really did his best to dismiss them. He worked for a long time to keep that constant mental dialog that many of us have, at bay. He often said his moment of clarity, the moment when he realized he could silence the mind chatter, came when he was on his motorcycle. Being on the bike required him to always be aware of his surroundings, to be completely and totally present in each moment and not allow himself to be distracted by anything. Once he realized it was possible to silence the chatter he began to apply it when he was not on the bike, and gradually he was able to feel the same peace in everyday life.

His advice to me was to not let myself get caught up in my thoughts, to not listen to that negative voice in my head that always told me I couldn't do something, or reminded me of past mistakes, or began constructing endless scenarios about what could go wrong in the future and why I was sure it would be awful. Whenever those thoughts come up, he said, just notice them. Notice the thought, maybe remark to yourself, “That’s very interesting,” and then just let it pass. When I started to dwell on a thought he said imagine that as I hear it over and over in my head that it gradually begins to trail off. The words start to fade out, the volume just reduces to a hum and gradually disappears. I’m still trying to incorporate this into my life, now more than ever. He was always confident I could do that, and I was always confident I couldn't. I would get so frustrated when he’d put these suggestions out there, I’d tell him I could never do it, I can’t be calm, I’ll never be at peace and free of my negative mindset. I’m still skeptical, but I’m going to try again, really try, to understand how he approached this.

For now I’m re-reading The Power of Now, partially because I couldn't quite absorb it when I first tried, several years ago. Over the years Jeff had drifted away from talking about it as much, and he didn't follow Tolle’s further books all that closely, but the basic concept of the Power of Now remained a central part of his life. Perhaps I’m ready to absorb the message now, and even if not I’m finding that as I reread it brings me a  little closer to the way Jeff regarded the universe.

Whenever I would complain that I’d never be able to get rid of my negative mind chatter and find that same calm he would tell me, only half jokingly, to ask myself What Would Jeffrey Do?  He said we’ll write a book about this one day. Maybe I still will, if I can manage to make his calmness a part of my own life.  So what would Jeff do?  I honestly have no idea how he would be reacting if the situation had been reversed, if he were in my place now. But I am going to do my best to follow the example I think he would have set.

Sobbing Over Artichokes

So in the past three weeks I have ventured out of the house a few times, mostly if I need to go to the store or need to take something to someone. I never know at the beginning of the day if I’m going to accomplish anything, most mornings find me crawling back into bed and hiding for a few hours. Today started off much like that but I finally managed to rouse myself enough to make a trip to the grocery.

It’s funny where you find the grief triggers. I've accepted that just about everything is going to set me off at home, from moving something that belonged to him to seeing his handwriting on a scrap of paper to looking at the movies he still had in his Netflix queue. I listened to some old voice mails today and was unable to function for a long time. What I didn’t expect today was to have the grocery store do me in. Yet there I was, standing in the produce section and looking to see if they had any artichokes, and feeling my stomach begin to knot up.

I was never an artichoke fan, but my husband absolutely loved them. It became a standard thing when I did the shopping, cruise the produce, check the artichokes, and if they looked suitable I would always grab a couple for him to enjoy during the week. For a second my instinct was to grab one, even though I’d never eat it. Then I wanted to cry because they represented another thing he would never enjoy again. It all went downhill from there, everything in the store that he enjoyed became a new trigger for me. I managed to avoid shopping in tears, but I did exit with a bag of crullers that I didn't really need. I've already eaten most of those, by the way. I’m not proud.

I think the triggers are going to be the hardest thing to deal with, and I’m realizing that we shared so many interests and activities that I’m going to find them everywhere. I’m nowhere near the stage where I can imagine enjoying things that we once shared, or smiling at a memory instead of bursting into tears. So often I feel like I’m not only grieving the loss of his presence in my life, I feel like I’m grieving every time I think of things he won’t get a chance to do, projects that will forever be a dream, plans he was making to help out friends… and I scream at the universe because it is so unfair that he was taken away when he could have done so many more things in life.

I know my feelings, all of them, have been experienced by everyone who has lost someone they loved dearly, and I have been assured that in time, I will begin to emerge from the worst of it and find a path to healing. On day 22 that path still seems to be a long way away from me, but I will do my best to be confident that I will find my way to it when I’m ready.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

Time

I’m wondering if every Friday evening I’m going to be marking time by what I was doing on November 1, and remembering how until almost nine o’clock at night it was all okay, the world made sense, life held promise, and I could still put my arms around my husband and hold him and know that we would be together forever.

I haven’t cleared my phone history, so I know exactly when I called 911. It was 8:54pm. 8:54 when things suddenly became so terrifying that I knew he needed help. 8:54pm when I began to have the first flares of panic as I worried about what would happen and the world began to crumble around me.

Sometimes time seems to stand still, but as I look back on that night it feels like it moved at breakneck speed. The paramedics arrived, gave him oxygen, everything seemed to be improving. He was having a lot of trouble moving without getting out of breath, but they got him into the ambulance and he was stable. He was talking with them, giving them the information they needed. He was still stable and talking as he entered the ER, it wasn't until after they brought him in that his heart stopped. Because I’d have had no way to get home I chose to follow the ambulance in my car instead of riding along. I regret that deeply, I regret that I wasn't able to sit with him and spend his last alert moments holding his hand, trying to lend him energy, just being with him. I feel like I abandoned him, and I will always wonder if my presence would have made any difference. Or maybe I just grieve for myself, that I didn't have the chance to hear his voice one more time, that I couldn't kiss him on the cheek and embed that in my memory. That I couldn't hear him tell me he was going to be fine, he was always fine, he could overcome anything. What if I had just went with him... These are things I realize I can never know, but I will always ask myself those what if questions.

By the time they brought me into the ER they knew it was too late, they’d sent a Chaplain and a nurse to prepare me, and I know they were just bringing me in so I could be there at the end, with him. He was unconscious by then, but they still worked furiously on him. I've never been so terrified in my life, I felt like i was outside myself, but I didn't fall apart. I held his hand tight, I kept rubbing his right leg because I could reach him, and I needed to do something. I wanted him to know i was there, even though I couldn't tell. I wonder if he knew I was holding his hand as they tried to restart his heart, I wonder if some part of him heard me talking to him, telling him how much I loved him. People who have had near-death experiences talk about seeing themselves in the ER, observing what’s going on. I wonder, did he see me there, with him? Could he feel how much I loved him?

Three weeks have passed. It still feels I just spoke to him a moment ago, and the entire event still feels like it has to be a dream. Someday, maybe, I will stop marking the days by how much time has passed, and maybe the feeling that it is unreal won’t be as strong. For now, though, I look at the clock and all I can think is that three weeks ago, at this moment, there was still joy in my life.

(cross posted from Kything NaturesZen)

It's Not Just a Down, It's a Bottomless Chasm

I've had other widows tell me that it can get a little worse before it gets better. It is getting worse for me lately, and I think that is because the initial utter shock has worn off. Yet the unreality has not, in fact it seems even more unreal now than it did in that first week. It's harder than ever to accept that he is dead, and I don't know why.

The first week, even the first two weeks, I think I was still able to maintain a distance from all of it. I was so numb I couldn't think of anything, I knew he was gone but for some reason it wasn't fully registered in my brain. It's the same now, but the loss feels a thousand times worse lately. I look at his photos and have a meltdown. I look at his things and do the same. Tonight I looked at the products that had been sitting on the Amazon wishlist, one that we shared, and began sobbing uncontrollably because he will never be able to sit down and read the how-to books he'd marked, or learn the new programming tricks, or get that cool tea maker he was researching.

It seems that now half the time I cry for my loss, and the other half I cry because he can never experience these things, and because the people who knew him will never be able to interact with him again.

Sometimes I've asked myself what would he have done, if the situation were reversed and I'd been the one to go suddenly and without warning? We'd mentioned it a few times, casually, and he was always pretty adamant that he'd expect me to go on and do great things. I told him, no, I'm going with you. If you go first, I'm going with you, and he'd shake his head. He wanted me to be independent and strong. I'd like to think that if he were here, in place of me, he would be carrying on with a much calmer demeanor. He'd carry on with our plans, he'd live life to the fullest. That was what I'd have wanted him to do.

I don't know why I find it so profoundly difficult to contemplate that my life will go on.

I spent time at a bookstore tonight, recharging myself and looking for texts that might be helpful. In the past few days I've been building my reading list, the first of which was one of the books that was transformative in my hub's life: The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. I had read it when we first met because it was a tremendously important book to him, but it didn't click with me as he would have liked. Lately, though, I feel a need to reread this and hope to begin to have a better understanding of how my husband could maintain his calm, his quiet mind, his feeling of peace. I feel like it will draw me closer to him, and maybe it will ease my mind somewhat as well.

19 Days, my love. I miss you.

16 Days

I haven't paid a lot of attention to the "stages of grief" idea. I know everyone reacts to something like this in their own way, and I'm still early in this, but I think I am deep within a stage of guilt and regret right now.

I was looking through older photos of us from a couple of years ago when we had lost weight, were feeling great, and had high hopes of going into the future fit and healthy and active. The one goal we both had at the time was to be at our goal weights before we turned 50, because the last thing we wanted to do was let our health get so bad that we wouldn't even live to see 50. And we were doing so good... then one day we both fell off the diet wagon, we began to reward ourselves for our hard work, we started back on our old plans, and the weight came back. All of it, for me, and at least 75% of it for my husband. 

The past few months we'd both felt ashamed of ourselves for that. We noticed the burden the weight was putting on us, the achy joints, the extra effort required to get out of a chair, the lack of desire to go anywhere that required walking around. We were right on the verge of getting back on our plans and losing that weight once and for all. We were recommitted. Health was in our future.

Then, of course, what we had always feared came to pass. He was three months shy of turning 50. 

Now all I can ask myself is, what if we'd kept on track? What if we'd just followed through with our fitness plans and stayed active? Would it have headed this off? Would it have made him strong enough to fight through? And I feel as though it's my fault, because I never even tried to insist we stick to our diet, I was just as happy to go along with the idea of a weekly pint of ice cream. I never resisted, I watched both of us grow larger and I didn't do anything. I'm not sure I will ever get over feeling as though I am partially responsible for this, and if only I'd been better, if only I'd had enough willpower to carry both of us through.

If only I'd have forced him to go to the doctor the second he said he felt bad. 

If only I'd done something. Anything.

I suspect this is a common reaction and it's something I will never know the answers to. I don't know exactly what caused my husband's heart attack, he had never been diagnosed with any cardiac problems whatsoever. I can ask myself question after question about what I could have done to prevent this but I will never know if it were possible.

If only.

Little random realizations

It just occurred to me that the first time I met my husband in person, the first time I ever saw him and talked to him, we decided to go to Chipotle for our dinner.

On the day he passed, that afternoon, a few hours before the world ended, he had me run out to get carry out from Chipotle.

I don't know why that suddenly struck me... that this will now forever be associated with the first and last days that he was physically a part of my life.

Day 13

Another day, another mix of semi functional busy-ness, and total inactivity.  Bless all my friends who keep telling me I don't need to do anything, I wish that were true. Unfortunately I can't spend the rest of the year in total inactivity, plopped on the couch, ignoring any responsibility.  I'd like to, but eventually I'll have to do something.

I'm finding that my moods are fluctuating wildly... For a few moments I am wildly optimistic: I'm going to survive this! I'm going to go forward and do the things that we always dreamed of! I am going to write that book he told me we needed to write... I am going to follow through on things, be confident, be focused, grounded, centered... I am going to be the woman he always knew I could be!

Then I look at at a photo, or open a new card, and all the optimism vanishes in a puff of grief. I can't do it. I can't go on. If I don't have my husband to share these things with what's the point in doing them at all? If he's not physically here to give me feedback, to encourage me or join me in my activities, why even bother?

There has to be a balance in there somewhere. I'm not ready to find it yet, but maybe the idea that I'm even considering there might be something else for me to do in life is a good thing, even if that hope only lasts for a few seconds at a time.

I will let the grief continue on it's own terms, for now.

And another thing

All of the people telling me my husband is with me in spirit, or he's always there in my memories, or he's in Heaven watching over me, and say they hope that comforts me.

You know, I appreciate the sentiment, and I really do appreciate that you are all trying to comfort me, and say something that will be helpful and healing and kind. And I will always graciously accept the thought and thank you for it and mean it. I really and truly do feel thankful for you, for any words you have for me at this time. Thank you.

But really? That is not in the least comforting. Not even a little. I know this is grief speaking, and it probably makes me grumpy and angry. (Well yes, for sure it does.) Yes, he's with me in spirit. Yes, his memory is always with me. I don't want to sit here with memories, I want to sit here with my husband. I want to put my arms around him, I want to cuddle up next to him, I want to kiss him on the cheek or feel him come up behind me and wrap me up in a big hug. Yes, he will always be a part of me, but knowing that doesn't fill the void that his physical presence left. It doesn't make my stomach stop hurting, it doesn't help me feel comforted in the face of panic attacks and convulsive sobbing.

And I don't even know how I feel about the afterlife concept. I know my husband didn't believe in it at all. His goal to live each day as completely as he could was based in his belief that this life is all you get, once it ends that's that, so to speak, so you should make the best of the time you have on Earth.

I'd love to think he's gone on to a new experience. I'd love to think he's waiting for me and one day I'll join him. My pagan / spiritual / eclectic new agey world view really wants to hold on to the belief that a person does have a 'soul' and that the essence of being goes on after physical death. But it's unknowable. I can see now, more than ever, why people need to be comforted by religious beliefs. Hell, I can see why people go to psychics and try to make contact with the other side... it's too hard to let go. You want there to be some tiny little spark of hope that life is eternal and your loved one is there, that their consciousness is there, the awareness and personality is still there, just in different form. You want to know that you will be reunited with them. The alternative is unbearable.

Today was just another bad day. Filed for his Social Security death benefit, (just the single payment, I am too young to receive spouse benefits) then I came home, crawled under his bathrobe, and have spent most of the time I wasn't trying to sleep crying or eating cookies.

Still the well wishers send me their prayers, and their hope that I'm doing okay. Maybe someday I will be. Not yet.

Twelve mornings

How did I get so lucky?

That was a thing we would ask each other. How did I get so lucky? How did I manage to keep you? How is it that I am lucky enough that you love me? Me, with all my insecurities, my self esteem issues, my constant worrying and doubt... how did I get so lucky?

And he told me that he was the lucky one, that he felt lucky that I loved him. And we both meant it, I know.

I still can't believe that I had such good fortune, I still can't believe how blessed I was. But right now, in this moment, I don't feel at all lucky.

I made it through the memorial, but it was definitely not a comforting turning point. If anything I feel loss even more deeply now. We are on day 12. Twelve mornings I've woken up without him. It's getting harder, I think, with each morning. Harder to imagine that he's not here, harder to get through they day. Harder to accept that it's real, he's really not coming home. I am doing my best to keep myself busy and as long as I can do something that requires all of my attention I am okay for a few minutes. But then my attention drifts, and I fall apart again.

More errands to do today. Up early for that, but I have a feeling as soon as that finishes up I'll just spend the afternoon bundled up in his robe.

And evenings too

Wow this has been a rough day.

Photos collected for the memorial, so ready for that in that I have gathered the needed materials together. Emotionally? Oh hell no. I am not even a tiny bit ready. I can't let my mind fall quiet for even five minutes without starting to cry.

I want to shout at him today. He always told me that he always thought he was in my life to help me learn to be confident and assertive and follow my dreams. This was not the way to go about it! He was supposed to help me at my side, not force me into action under the worst circumstances I could have ever imagined.

The things that will never be done are the hardest things for me to think about. Not just the things that we won't do together, but the little plans that were just for himself that he can never try out, and the things he would have done for his friends, his coworkers, people we meet along the way... He was always doing things. He was always trying to go the extra mile, above and beyond... a few months ago his boss told him he was always "going to eleven" (You remember the Spinal Tap scene, right?) He decided that was his way to do things in life. He was always going to go to eleven, he liked to try to do a little something extra for everyone.  Now all of those things are left undone.

It's not just that I feel my personal loss, it's like I feel the loss for everyone who was ever connected to him.

Day 8: Mornings.

I never used to rise early. Husband was an early riser, he was always up by 9 at the latest, even if he had nowhere to go. He always wished I would get up early with him, but I was never a morning person and just couldn't get myself awake. Every day this past week I've woke up by 7 or so. I wonder why I couldn't have done this in the past? I feel like I wasted so much time sleeping that I missed out on extra time with my husband, and I feel awful.

And then there are the very well meaning folks who are telling me how strong I am being. I know they mean well, I love them for caring, but I am not strong. I am not even a little strong. I feel like I'm obligated to put on a brave front now, so I won't disappoint everybody. Sometimes, once a day or so, I think about how I will do my best to go on and make him proud of me, in his memory. But the rest of the day I just want to close my eyes and never wake up again.

Day 7, part 2

And so the cards, the book, the memorial candle, and the DVD are all ready for the service. They had so many choices for the books and cards, some of which may not vary much from place to place because I recognized the designs from other funerals. I went with a plain book, I don't think my husband would have been too excited to have a floral theme, and certainly not the default dove launching into flight. Besides, does anyone sit down and go back through the books after a funeral? I have a few for parents or grandparents and I don't think I ever looked in them again after the service.

People expect to have them, though. It's important for them to leave their condolences. I wish it were all electronic though. Signing a tablet would be much nicer. That has to be right around the corner, if it's not a thing yet.

So. I fell into a billion pieces watching the dvd, as happens when I have been looking at photos already. For some reason today it was a lot worse, though. Is it because I keep looking at the date and thinking: exactly one week ago at this time my life still made sense. Everything was still okay. I could still snuggle up against my husband. He could still reassure me that he just felt a little off but he was sure he was fine.

Meanwhile I am trying to watch my regrets. I have too many... why didn't I pressure him into going to the ER the moment he said he felt off? Why didn't I ride in the ambulance with him? Oh, that one is killing me right now. If only I'd done that I could have held his hand a little longer. We could have shared an "I love you" one more time.

Tonight I will drown my regrets in donuts, I think. After a week of barely eating I think it's time for comfort food.

7 Days

It has almost been a full week. On one hand time seemed to stop, on the other I don't know how this much has already passed. I feel like I was just sitting there with him. I can close my eyes and feeling his arms around me, and snuggling against him.

I looked through so many pictures. The ones I've kept on my phone, the ones that I had saved. And videos, too, little short clips we sent each other. I wonder how long it takes before I can look at any of it and smile instead of falling apart. I wonder when the time comes that I will find an appetite, instead of trying to eat something every day only because I know I'm supposed to. How long before I stop feeling physically awful.

Today I pick up the memorial package, the guestbook, the remembrance cards, the urn, although I have not yet received his ashes, the urn will be his proxy at the memorial. I have two days to try to prepare myself for that as much as I can.

I keep telling everyone I'm doing okay, I'm hanging in there. Am I? I'm not even sure.

A Love Story

I had never dated much in my life. I didn't have friends who were inclined to fix me up, I was overweight, insecure, and far too shy to consider putting myself into the dating pool. I dated briefly in college, and a few times afterwards, but for the most part I spent my twenties and thirties on my own. I was mostly content with my life. I had a nice apartment, I worked with good people, I had my little pastimes to keep me busy. I often thought about how I wished I could share my life with someone, but I was just too afraid of trying to get out to meet people. When online dating services began to advertise heavily I'm not sure why I thought I'd give it a try, but I signed up, just for giggles. I didn't really expect much.

I didn't get contacted often, and I was a bit hesitant to try to initiate contact with anyone, so in the first couple months I exchanged emails with only a couple of people. I had one date with a very nice guy, but we just didn't seem to hit it off, and it didn't seem worthwhile to continue to pay for a service when I wasn't meeting anyone. I decided to let my subscription run out. It was kind of a fun experiment, but it didn't seem too promising. Before it was ready to expire I changed my profile a few more times, and I remember the last header I wrote: "Maiden seeks Knight, shining armor optional." Yes, a bit cheesy, but I wanted to make sure my profile was as goofy as I was so there would be no surprises later. Shortly after that I got an email from Jeff.

It took me a couple days to respond to him because at the time I was busy with the terribly important business of cleaning my living room to make way for a new sofa, but as soon as we started emailing we just seemed to hit it off. He didn't just write a few lines, he sent long thoughtful letters, he talked about his outlook on life and things he wanted to do. He was both fascinating and a little intimidating, he seemed far more spiritual, focused, and self confident than me. But, on the other hand, I remember one of the emails, after we’d compared some of our personality quirks, he commented that “We have the same bad habits!”

I loved exchanging emails, but it seemed right to move onto talking on the phone after about a week. I loved his voice, I always loved his voice. We talked often, then after two weeks we decided to meet at a local bookstore in the coffee shop.

When I got there I found this guy sitting at the table with a small vase of flowers. I hadn't expected flowers, I thought it was really sweet. Apparently he’d told the girl working at the counter that this was a first date, and he was a little nervous about meeting me, so she was watching with amusement while we sat there and talked. And we talked, we talked for at least three hours before we moved out of the coffee shop and into the bookstore to wander around. The afternoon meeting turned into an early dinner, then we each drove to a nearby park and strolled around till evening. I remember standing by my car, playing with my keys as we wound up the date. I was still nervous, I wasn't sure how I felt, I was a little afraid it wouldn't work out and I'd hurt, or maybe I was afraid it would work out and I had no idea if I could handle that.. but even with all my anxiety I knew I wanted to see him again.

Fortunately I didn't let all the doubts get the best of me and we kept talking, and kept meeting, and found more in common every time we talked. It was a month later when he went off to a convention for a few days, and I had a sudden realization that I was in love with him, head over heels, and I couldn't wait for him to get back. I kept leaving him little voice mails, and pinned his picture up in my cubicle. I think I amused my coworkers, who kept up with my romance and heartily approved of Jeff.

We moved along quickly, I suppose, compared to some couples. We’d met in person for the first time on July 10, and we were engaged on my birthday in November. We got married the following June. It was perfect. On the anniversary of our first date, a few weeks after our wedding, we decided to recreate our first date. The clerk at the bookstore was still there, and recognized Jeff. She was delighted to hear that we'd just gotten married, and thought it was so romantic.

All of my time with him was like that. I fell in love with him every day, and we were still learning about each other and finding new things that we loved in common. I don't think we went more than a few hours without saying "I love you!" and meaning it from the bottom of our hearts. He was my knight in shining armor, my soul mate, the partner I'd waited for my entire life. I know I am still speaking from a place of deep grief, but I honestly can't imagine ever sharing my life with anyone again. I will never be that comfortable with another person.

For the first few days I was wishing that I had dozed off and fallen into a nightmare, that none of it had really happened, and if I just wished hard enough I'd wake up and all would be well. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I was just fortunate enough to have my dream come true for eight beautiful years. I hope he felt the same way.

This Space

I lost my husband six days ago, to an unexpected heart attack.He was 49, not an age where you typically have begun to worry that something might happen. Not an age where you have put any plans in place. I was still envisioning us growing old happily, and becoming one of those cute elderly couples who are always active and doing fun things together.

There were so many things that we had dreamed about. Jeff was always making plans, he was always looking up things, trying to learn something new, researching some project he wanted to work on. If a friend or colleague expressed an interest in some topic he would start researching it for them, and try to send them helpful info and whatever he could find to get them started. He would always go above and beyond to help out. For the past few days as I look through the notes he wrote to himself I keep seeing ideas jotted down, spontaneous thoughts he was trying to record in voice notes.

Life has a way of not doing what we expect, and this was certainly not something I had imagined I'd face for many years. Now and then, if we saw a TV show or a movie that dealt with the topic, we'd comment on what would happen if one of us died. I couldn't even think about it. The idea was so deeply terrifying to me that I didn't want to imagine it. He would comment that he hoped I'd go on and do the things we always talked about doing, he always believed that I'd move beyond my worries and anxieties and self doubt and blossom into a strong, confident person.

Now that the worst has come to pass, I don't know what will happen. It is still too soon to know how I'll feel, to know if I can survive. Soon I'll have to face the future, the job search, the fear that I'll not be able to pay bills or hold on to the house. The future is deeply terrifying.

For now I am just going to wrap myself up in memories, and listen to his voice, and try to believe, even if it's just for a few more days, that everything will turn out okay.