On Death - Kahlil Gibran

I believe my mom may have had this book when I was younger, because the last part of this piece I have written in a book of quotes from when I was a teenager. I've always loved those 3 lines. To me they speak of what it means to really live life. To really and truly admire it for all that it is. 
In a group I attend just the other day we discussed finding the joy through the sorrow. There's this balance. This fine line. With Thanksgiving behind us and Christmas ahead of us, how do we continue to find the joy. For many of us who have lost someone the holidays are a constant reminder that they are not there. Happy families everywhere. Mom's and Dad's together with their kids. Everything family oriented. And here we are with our broken family. My kids without their father, me without my husband. All we really want for Christmas is Mike back. But the joy can still be there. There is still joy in our lives. We can still smile and laugh and love. There is joy and happiness in every day life. How do we balance this happy season with the sorrow of our loss constantly in our faces. It is the great juggling act of grief. Some moments are special and bring a huge smile to our faces. Others are sad and bring tears. Decorating the tree with Mike's ornaments. Moving the elf around the house without Mike there to come up with some crazy ideas. Hanging his stocking up. Putting up Christmas lights without him. All of it bittersweet. The joy of the season hit with the impact of his death over and over again. Many people wish the holidays away when they are grieving. I cannot lie and say I do not. Hell, I wish all of 2014 away right about now. As if 2015 is a magical thing that will come and make everything better. Although I know it won't. And part of me will cling to 2014 for the rest of my life. You see it was the last year that he lived in. And so as 2014 begins to fade I go toward 2015 like a light at the end of the tunnel. All the while looking back at 2014 hoping the light from Mike and the last moments we shared this year never fade.

On Death
Kahlil Gibran
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Getting angry

"The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things..." - Lewis Carroll
The time has come to get angry. I read a lot about grief and loss these days. I need the reminder that I'm not alone in all this. And lets face it, I'm not - there are people all over who have lost. Some are open about it and others not so much. Loss is everywhere. Grief is everywhere. I'm not the only one going through it, not by a long shot. But in my little world I am one of only a few people I know who are around my age and have lost their husband. And of course one of the 'stages' of grief is ANGER. These stages aren't linear. You don't go through one and move on to the next, never to return to the last ones. No, you go back and forth and all over the place. Denial, anger, acceptance. I go back to anger a lot though.
There's so much to be angry about. I'm angry Mike went for a ride that day and wasn't with me and his kids on Easter Sunday. I'm angry with myself for not being a better wife and for not making his life better. I'm angry the world lost a great guy and that he never got the chance to live to an old age and see our children grow and have families of their own. I'm angry my kids have no father to grow up with. I'm angry AT my kids sometimes. They seem to fight constantly and are my constant reminder that Mike is gone. There are points when they drive me absolutely insane. I'm angry that most people don't really know how to talk to me or act around me anymore. Like half the time I've got this weird disease. The 'widow' disease. And it makes people uncomfortable to be around me a lot. So they just don't bother anymore. I'm angry that at the end of a hard day, the one person I could go to and bitch to is gone. The person who made it all better with a hug and a kiss is gone. I'm angry I have to be a single mom.  I don't even think that fully describes my situation. Many 'single' parents have a second person who take their kids regularly and play the role of a second parent - so they get a break. If I need a break, I need to ask people to help - and that makes me (you guessed it!) ANGRY.
And I'm not just angry like 'woe is me', like I'm just pissed off about something. No - this is a royally pissed anger beyond anything I've really known before. I want to take all the dishes out of the cupboards and smash them apart. I want to scream at the top of my lungs until my voice stops working. I want to have a full on temper tantrum and fall on the floor and kick and hit and flail away. I want Mike back for 1 minute so I can hug and kiss him and tell him I love him. And also smack him. How could this happen? How could he do this to us? What did I do to deserve this? I'm angry at how unfair life is. No matter my blessings, this is all bullshit! Fucking bullshit. Almost 7 months later and here I am. Utterly and completely pissed off.

6 months - 10/20/14

Today marks 6 months. 6 months ago I woke up and you were here. And that night when we went to bed you were gone. Killed in an instant. Never coming back. There are still moments daily that bring me right back to that day. A song. A photo. A memory. A voice. And there I am, finding out that you were gone and wondering what we were going to do. I don't really remember 4/20. I remember the morning a little bit. Easter egg hunt with the kids. Then I remember being told what happened. The rest of the day is a blur. The next few weeks are a blur.
6 months later and the fog has finally started to lift. The reality is here. You aren't coming back, and this is our life now. I accept it. But only because I have to - not accepting it means living in a world of denial and sorrow and constant pain. And I can't do that. I accept it, but I don't think it's right or fair. I accept that we have to keep living without you here. I don't like it. I would do anything to make it different. But what choice do I have? None. This is my life now. I have no choice. Denying you are gone or living in grief only makes my life now even more difficult. So perhaps it's more denial that acceptance. I'm not certain.
But now I become selfish. For the past 6 months my thoughts and energy have been focused on a lot of other people. Mainly our kids, and with good reason. But now - what about me? What will become of me? I can't help but wonder if I'll be alone for the rest of my life. I hope not - no one wants that -  but I have to imagine that it is a very real possibility. I have to be prepared for that. No one would or could ever take your place.  And if by some chance I do meet someone one day how can they compare? They can't. So I have to deal with that first. The fact that no one can replace you. Once I'm OK with that and I'm ready, how exactly do I move on? Still loving you but possibly finding someone to spend my life with again. The thought of it is tiring, honestly. The work that goes into meeting people and building a relationship. It's daunting. It doesn't sound fun or exciting or in any way remotely enticing. And who wants to take on this kind of a situation anyhow. The baggage that comes with me and my kids is enormous and more than most people would want to tackle. Or even touch with a 10 foot pole. So I have to be OK and prepared for the fact that this is it. It's me and our kids, end of story. And once the kids are grown.... then it's me. There may not be any more chapters for me. So I have to be satisfied and fulfilled with the one we wrote together. Like most things that completely suck this year, I have to accept this and live with it. 13 years wasn't nearly as long as I hoped to have with you, but I have to be grateful for the fact that we had them. Looking ahead is bleak. Mostly when I look forward it has to do with Gunnar and Adella and living for them. Making sure they are happy, taken care of, and loved. And that is what my life is now for. Before it also involved us. What we would do as we grew old together. Which of course is now completely gone. So now what do I do as I grow old... alone.
This is where my mind takes me 6 months after you are gone.

Gunnar's 6th Birthday

Ah. 9/30. Gunnar's birthday. The next in a long line of 'things Mike isn't here for' when it comes to our family.

Gunnar's is especially hard for me. Gunnar is our first born child. He's the one that made us parents. That changed our lives forever, taking the focus off of ourselves and putting it on being parents and raising children. If you have kids, you know the transformation that takes place when this happens. Everything about your life and your relationship with each other shifts and changes. He is also our only son, and will carry on Mike's family name. Our relationship changed that day as we now navigated the world of parenthood together, discovering how much we had in common... and not in common! We didn't know what we were having, so when Gunnar was delivered and Mike said 'it's a boy!' it was one of the most magical things I'll ever remember. I was convinced it was a girl so I said 'are you sure?!?' and he laughed and probably made a comment about having seen a penis a few times before and knowing what one looks like. The next week was a blur, as I had a c-section and couldn't get around easily. Mike was the ever doting new dad, running around getting things done at home with me still in the hospital, and staying over with Gunnar and I at night so as to not miss anything, if possible. He dealt with my own issues surrounding my disappointment in how the birth had gone and that I had to have a c-section, to being a very overwhelmed new mom not quite sure of what I was doing. He made me feel confident I was doing a good job. Like I was a good mom. And still a good wife, too. And here we are - 6 years later - and again I'm an overwhelmed mom, only this time I'm overwhelmed because of him. Because I miss him and he's not here to help. He's not here to comfort. Not here to even make some rude comment and make me laugh. And so after a pretty good stint of thinking I was doing OK and trying to keep it together, I'm back at square one. Remembering the day we lost him. All that this loss means to me... and our kids.... and our families and friends. Losing your husband at a young age is something I never even thought about. The only time I ever really worried about losing Mike was long before we were married, when he was serving in Iraq in 2003. Home in Connecticut I never imagined that I would one day be met by a police officer in my kitchen and told that my husband had been killed on his motorcycle. Never in a million years did I expect this kind of news. The thing about losing him so young is that there is so much we never got to do. I suppose that's true for all couples when one passes away. But there were years... decades even... that we never got to live out together. There are 2 kids who aren't even close to grown who now have no father. There are trips we will never take. Conversations we will never have. Goodbyes we didn't get to say.
I can't help but think of what the future holds for Gunnar and Adella and myself. What will his 10th birthday be like. His 20th? His 50th? Will every one be such a harsh reminder that his dad is gone? Or will it fade in time... as his memories fade and our lives continue to move on... all the while glancing back over our shoulders from time to time to check and see if maybe he's still there somewhere?

The whole world seems empty

"When one person is missing, the whole world seems empty."
This was in a book I read to the kids tonight, and it hit me like a truck. This is the feeling. This is what goes through my head every minute of every day. Life is empty without Mike. Don't get me wrong, I am making a point to live life to the fullest now, because this has reminded me of how special and precious our lives are. But my life is still empty. Everything seems to have less meaning and be so much more temporary. Yes, I have our kids to keep me going and living. Yes, I have our families and friends around us keeping us afloat. Yes, I go out and have fun with lots of people and celebrate life the only way I know how - by living it. Our daily lives go on, but he's not here to share anything with. Not here for a quick text with an 'I love you' in the middle of the day. Not here to call with something funny that happened at work. Not here to sit down with at the end of the day and unwind, drink a beer, and relax together - reminding each other of how lucky we are and what good lives we really do have. And how much we appreciate each other. Not even here to fight with. The person I shared my world with is gone. My world is empty right now.
For some reason the past couple of weeks have been particularly hard. Work has been busy. I've needed more help with the kids. It's been stressful. And the one person who I would come home to at the end of the day and talk to about all this is simply not here anymore. The person who supported me all these years, and who gave such great advice like "fuck all of them, who needs them!" isn't here to bring me back down to Earth with a big laugh and a reminder that I really shouldn't give so much of a shit all the time. The person who put up with me, not matter how crazy/bitchy/ridiculous. So I sit here and I write. I've even started bringing work home with me, to give me something to do and make me feel like I'm doing something constructive rather than sitting here doing nothing with no one to talk to (Mike would be so pissed at me!). I've got a couple of books to keep me company. But my world is empty. How did I not know? How was I so unaware of how important this person really was to me? I mean, I knew I loved him and I wanted to spend my life with him - but our marriage wasn't perfect and there were definitely some times we had wondered if maybe we'd be better off apart. I was so completely unaware of how deep my love for him ran. That without him my world would be empty. And it took this, of all things, to make me see it. And he's not even here now for me to tell him of this amazing revelation I've had. Because I know he'd laugh and say "I know. I told you so, Ab."

The happiest people are often the saddest

If I can say one thing about the past (almost) 5 months, is that it's absolutely exhausting putting on a happy face all day. But I cannot walk around all day moping about, unhappy and acting like others need to feel sad or badly for me. Quite the opposite - I don't want anyone to feel that way. My pain and suffering is mine to bear, not anyone else's. So I require myself to put on a happy face, smile through the pain, and push forward day to day. When Mike's life ended, ours did not. It often feels like it did. But it didn't, and we have to go on without him.
When someone asks me how I'm doing, I'm often tempted to say 'do you want the long or the short answer'. The short answer is I'm doing OK. Some days are good, some bad, but it's one day at a time and I guess things could be a lot worse, honestly. I have to keep reminding myself of that. It could be worse. Many can't imagine what that might be - but I remind myself daily of how many things in my life that are GOOD. It's the only way you can get through a tragedy like this. I have 2 healthy kids who love me. I have a roof over our heads and I have a good job that I love. I have amazing friends and family surrounding me. I have plenty of things in life to be happy and to smile about. So I'm doing OK. That's the short answer.
The long answer would go something like this. I suck. And not just any kind of 'oh I had a bad day' kind of suck - I mean I realllllly suck. I want to tear my own hair out, drive my car off a cliff, and scream at the top of my lungs until I have no voice left. I have 2 kids who constantly remind me of my dead husband when I look at them. Who ask for their dad and tell me they miss him or want him daily. By the end of the day I'm so exhausted of dealing with everything from the kids, to the dog, to my job, to finances, to home issues that I want to fall over and go to sleep and never wake up... and then I remember the 5 loads of laundry and grocery shopping that I forgot to do (hey kids, you're alright with pizza again, right? Yeah.) I live each day having regret upon regret of things I never got to say or do with the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. When something happens in my day, I go to call Mike to tell him about it - and a split second later have to remind myself that he's gone. I have a house I can't keep clean, a 'to do' list that gets longer by the minute, and kitchen counters that look like a hurricane came through. And the person who should be here for all this - to help, or even just sympathize... or laugh about it- is simply gone. And of course everyone says 'don't worry about this stuff' and that's very easy to say. But when these things bother you, it's hard (if not impossible) to ignore. It's hard to convince myself that I really don't care about the piles of laundry that aren't done, or are sitting there clean but not put away. It's stressful to not have my partner in crime here to help me with all these things. I sit alone at night and I don't want to do any of these things that need to be done. I want a moment of peace and clarity.

So if you ask me how I am, and I smile and say 'OK'... rest assured, you are getting the short answer. And that's alright, because I don't want or need to saddle everyone with the long answer. If you are married or have a long term partner, imagine them just being gone one day. Just for a second - not having them there any longer for the love, support and reliance that you come to count on them for. And now it's just you. If you can imagine that for one second, then you can imagine what my days are like now. But as I said above, life does go on. And we all have choices about how we go on. I have my moments when I dwell on the stress of being a single parent and of missing Mike. But mostly I choose to go forward with life and continue to enjoy it for the wild, crazy, unpredictable ride that it is - while always keeping Mike close to my heart. 

Changing my spirituality

I'm fully one to admit I am not a 'God' person. I grew up with an episcopalian reverend for a grandfather, but didn't go to church a ton - did a few bouts of Sunday School and would go to church sometimes on Easter and Christmas when I was a teen. Now I rarely (if ever) go to church. Mike didn't either (raised Roman Catholic). We both had our feelings about heaven/hell/God etc. but didn't talk about them much. Mike had a cross he wore around his neck fairly frequently, and one he wore with his dog tags when he fought in Iraq. So he definitely believed in God. For much of my 20's I considered myself an atheist. I didn't necessarily believe in this mythical being who created everything and had these places for people to go when they died. I studied Geology in college. I believe in the Big Bang theory, I believe the Earth is billions of years old. I believe in science. While still holding on a little bit to the spiritual world. I have often said that I experience extreme Deja Vu. To the point where I will be doing something or saying something and I KNOW I've been there or said that before. A vivid recollection, if you will, that has been played in my mind before - I assume in a dream at some point. That feeling and experience has kept me tied to a little bit of the 'other side'. I really got in to Native American religion when I was in college. I took courses on it and wanted to know a lot more about their spiritual beliefs. So have a curiosity about religion without really being tied to one or a full 'believer', if you will. And they say that when something like this happens, it challenges and even changes your beliefs entirely.

In many ways the loss of Mike has pushed me back into a limbo world concerning my spirituality. When you lose someone so close to you, there is a need, and a want, to believe that they are in a good place and still around in spirit. That they have gone to heaven and are watching over us (I can see how this all came about - it's extremely comforting). That there is more to life that just being here for a few decades and then POOF! gone. My kids also are looking for answers. They ask me where daddy is, and if he's in a good place. Gunnar even asked me what he looks like now. The thought of him being an angel and being in heaven with God is comforting to him. Makes him feel like he's still around, in a sense, and that his death isn't so final. In a way that helps us get through all this. Talking to my almost 6 year old about death isn't easy. At a young age he now has learned how fragile life is. He asked about his own death and if he'll die. And then started to cry about it, because he doesn't want to die. How do I tell him that he'll be OK, he's got a lot of years ahead of him to live. But can I guarantee that? No, I can't. So I lie and tell him to not worry. These are difficult questions and even more difficult answers.

I'm convinced that Mike has been 'around' us at various moments. Little signs here or there make me believe that his spirit is still lingering with us. Songs come on my radio that I haven't heard in many years, that he introduced me to and have to do with love and loss. A bald eagle flew right over my car in Mass the other day while driving home - I haven't seen a bald eagle in the wild in I don't know how many years. I pull into my driveway and see a red cardinal at the bird feeder. When I pull in all the birds but the cardinal scattered. I'll get a feeling that he's right there behind me. He's visited myself and some others and communicated with us in small bits. And not in a dream. Although he comes in our sleep, but he actually referenced what happened, and let us know he's OK. Perhaps it's my mind trying to make some sense of a senseless situation. Perhaps there is more, and my skeptical mind has a hard time processing it. Perhaps we all have this kind of conundrum when someone we love is lost far too soon. Perhaps I'm full of shit - oh wait, I am, there's no perhaps there haha! I've always been a glass half full kind of person. And I've always believed that everything in life happens for a reason. But this is one situation that has put that belief to the test. So perhaps God and religion is where I'm finding answers that bring me a little bit of comfort in a difficult time. Perhaps we all just do what we can and let our mind go where it needs to when something so terrible happens.

3 months... and a birthday

7/20/2014 (much of this written after 7/20)
3 months have passed since the accident. 12 weeks (actually it might be 13, silly calendar). I'm heading to the zoo with the kids today. Because it's summer and they don't need to be sitting around the house on electronics with me sad. I will also go down and visit the crash site, because I haven't been there in a few weeks and I feel the need to go. I need to sit for a bit and talk to him and remind him how much we miss him. Tell him what's been going on. Remember him. At first the site was a place I felt him around me. I felt like he was there with me, sharing in my sadness and grief. Because I do believe he's sad. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave his kids or me alone without him. He is missing his life, no matter how crazy it might have been and how stressed he might have gotten about it. I think that's the irony of death. In it we remember how lucky we are to be alive. But then we lose that feeling again all too quickly and get back to the mundane day to day of living. All the while forgetting how thankful we should be that we are even here. What a blessing our lives are. How lucky we are that we are healthy, have a roof over our heads, have a job, and have love and friendship in our lives. I don't feel him at the site as much anymore. I don't imagine it's a place he wants to be now. Although signs of the accident remain. The cross his best friends made remains there with his name on it. The marks on the tree where he hit are still there. They shock me back into that day when everything happened. Remind me of how quickly things can change. I hope that if he is around, he's at our houses with us - at his parents, his brother's and his sister's house. When I put the kids to bed I imagine him laying there with him, pretending to hold them. Giving them goodnight kisses. That's where I want him to be. Not at that sad place.

Adella's birthday was 4 days ago. That was a hard day. Adella's first birthday without dad, and nothing but wonderful memories of that day when Mike was with me. I labored all day at home, with Mike by my side. And I'll never forget how disappointed I was to find out that night I would need another c-section. And there Mike was comforting me and holding my hand, reminding me of what was really important - our baby would be here soon. And I will never in all my days forget the moment the doctor told him to stand up and he yelled 'it's a girl!' - the amazement and excitement in his voice. Me asking him if he was sure :) - since I really thought we were having another boy. Seeing him hold her, bring her to me. The wonderment of such a day. We were now a family of 4. One boy, one girl and us. Complete. And as Adella's birthday came it reminded me that we are now incomplete.... and always will be. A 3 year old who only had 2 birthdays with her father. How will I explain this to her when she's older? How will I make it OK for her? Her father won't be there to see her off to her first dance (and lets face it, he would have done that with a shotgun in his hand...) he won't be there to walk her down the aisle. That alone breaks my heart. I'm so sorry, my girl. I'm sorry you won't have many active memories of your dad. I'm sorry he'll be a photo on your wall and in albums for you. I'm sorry he's gone. But he will always be a part of you. And when I call you chunk-a-monk and Delly Bean, remember that is daddy talking. 

Abi's Army of Love

There is a group of people out there who love us. Really love us. I mean there's lots of folks out there supporting us, some who I don't even know. But there's an Army of people who are keeping the kids and I lifted up and smiling just about every week.

Abi's Army of Love started just after Mike passed. I got a card in the mail, from an unknown person (I recognized the handwriting though... and that it came from MASS *cough* Katy Foley! :)) telling me about the Army of Love. Since then we've received gifts for the kids, keep sake items for Mike, flowers and other things. Cards, donations, you name it. And there are people outside the 'official' Army who I think are still a part of the Army :) I head home to NH and an old high school friend gives us tickets to Story Land and a gift certificate to dinner. My son got to go to soccer camp for free this summer thanks to the head soccer coach at UConn. He got a 4 day trip to the cape too! I come home and my lawn is mowed and my kitchen has been cleaned. I have a suite of people who have given their schedules to a central person so that they can all help with kid duty of I need a babysitter for any reason. It's absolutely amazing. And humbling. And awesome. And they are a part of my Army as well.

I can tell you all right now - even if you are reading this and are not an official part of the Army, or maybe you don't even know me or my family. If something like this happens to someone you know - do an act like this. The smallest thing means the world to me and my kids right now. That knowledge that we are loved and cared for and supported continually is incredibly comforting.




But really, this isn't about the 'stuff'. That's all fun, nice and neat - and it means the world to me, believe me. And especially to my kids - the surprises keep coming which makes them have these huge grins that are hard to beat. But really, this is about the love. The support. Knowing that even though time is going on, our friends and family haven't forgotten Michael, or us, or what happened. I think that's the hardest thing about time going on after a tragedy. Everyone's lives start to go back to normal - as they should - and here I am with my head against the wall stuck in April 2014. The world keeps spinning while mine is standing still. Things happen, we all move on. But those of us close to Michael are still left with this void. This hole that cannot be filled. The puzzle piece that is forever gone, making our world incomplete. That will never go away for as long as we live. We may come to not notice it as much, or to feel it as sharply. But it will always be there.  Because they are anonymous, I can't thank them personally. I thank them here, and on Facebook. And I  know who a few of them are, but I don't know who's been sending what, really. And so I can't write thank you's (which actually takes a huge burden off of me, so THANK YOU!!). My guess is that they don't care about the recognition. Their happiness comes from knowing they have put a smile on some grieving faces. The fact that months later our 'Army' is still at full force behind us and thinking of us - well it is absolutely fantastic and reminds me of what life is all about. Taking care of each other.

I miss daddy

These are words I hear almost daily.
I want daddy.
I miss daddy.
I wish daddy was here.
 
They were daily at first, but have started to fade out and are only every other day or so now. It's exhausting. It's so mentally tiring to have to talk about it, and sympathize, and explain. Over and over again. And most days all I can do is hug them and say 'me too'. I miss him. I wish he were here. I want him back. I am sad/mad/angry/upset/destroyed - you think of the adjective for how I'm feeling and it's probably in there. I thank everything in this world that I have these two kids - they are a living part of Michael still here with us. But it's a double edged sword. Having them means I am reminded of him every second of every day. And instead of just me grieving, I have 2 grieving children that I need to try and figure out how to help. How much I wish they didn't have to have this pain or this loss. How much I wish I could just bear it all myself and not have them experience all of this. I don't in any way wish they weren't here - just that they didn't have to experience all of this and be a part of my grieving now as well. See I'm not just grieving for my loss of Michael. The loss of the person I've loved deeply for over 13 years now. I'm grieving FOR my children who now miss their father and will grow up without him. I'm grieving for them every moment when they ask for him, and every time there's one of those 'I have to tell Mike about this!' moments that he's not here for anymore.


Adella is too young to really understand what death is, and so she asks the most. It's very hard for her to grasp that he's gone and cannot come back. The other day she actually asked me 'where is daddy?' This is the first time she's done anything other than whine that she wants him or cry out for him. Most of the time she wants him she is in the throws of a tantrum and just yells 'DADDY'. When she is tired or upset (especially at me) those are the times she wants him and needs him. Just as it was when he was here. As a matter of fact, the day Michael died Adella was asleep napping when the police came to the house. My brother in law was with me and my sister in law came and got the kids to go to their house and play (I am forever thankful for that). And when David woke Adella up to leave the first thing she said to him was 'Where's Daddy?' Yeah. So she asks me where he is last week. And I try my best to keep it together and tell her that Daddy is gone (I don't use death/dead as she doesn't yet understand what that means. I could tell her he joined the circus and it would be more believable to her). 'Daddy was in an accident and he's gone, sweetheart. He can't come back.' She wasn't quite sure what to do, probably using the word accident wasn't the right thing. She looked a little confused and then said 'but I want him.' I told her that I knew that, but he can't be here with us. And gave her a hug. With her, it's hard to say things like 'he'll always be with us' because that's too abstract for her. She can't see him, so to her he is not here. If I say he's still with us in our hearts she expects to see him physically appear. For me the worst part of her being so young is that she really won't remember him. She'll remember through photos and stories but she won't have actual memories of him being alive or of doing things with him. That is incredibly sad for me (possibly more so than for her). She was (and always will be) daddy's little girl. She would run to him whenever she need something and he'd snatch her up in his big arms and hold her tight making everything better. My arms aren't quite as big and comforting for her.

Gunnar understands somewhat. But he misses him so much that his emotions are getting the most of him many times right now. The first few weeks were spent with him taking on the 'man of the house' job - he was adamant that he would fix things that broke, and that everything belonging to Mike was now his, since Dad was gone. He felt in a way he needed to take Mike's place in our house, I think. And Mike had always told him (eerily, now...) that if anything ever happened to him, Gunnar would have to take care of mommy and Adella. Slowly that attitude has given way to more sadness and anger. You can tell he misses him constantly and he is always on Gunnar's mind. There are nights when I put him to bed and he is just so down. I will ask him what's wrong and he says he misses Dad. I can't take that away. I can't make it better. A 5 year old should not have this burden on his shoulders. So I hug him and I say I do too. And we share a memory. Or look at a photo. Or read a book about loss. And we remember, together. We've started journaling together. So I take the journal I started when he was born, and we write about daddy in it now. He tells me what to say and I write it down with the date. 'Dad loved us all', 'Daddy was silly'. 'Daddy loved to fix things'. Adella has started chiming in too, which is fun. 'Daddy made me laugh! He tickled me!'. So I will write down things she remembers about dad too, in her journal, and they will both have those to look back upon when they are older.

There are things coming up where missing dad will be at a peak - birthdays, Football for Gunnar (Mike coached last year), start of school, more holidays. Each of them bringing more 'I miss daddy' moments. I imagine there will never be a time when that sentiment fades away completely. And each one brings with it another set of tears and grief that only missing someone you deeply love can bring. But we will get through them and move ahead. Because there is no other option for us. When something like this happens your life can go two ways - you can sink down low and wallow in the weight of the grief and let it consume you, or you can rise above it and do your best to keep living life for the person you have lost. I cannot imagine doing the former and having my children (or myself) be alright. So we choose the latter.

Knowing

The toxicology and autopsy reports are finally done, so the report about Michael's death is now complete and finished. A chapter in this horrific book is now complete and closed. I'm not going to do any big reveals here. What is in those reports is for my eyes and those of a few close family members who want to see it.
What I will say is that I now know what happened to my husband. For me, the not knowing was far worse. What happened to him in the accident wasn't pretty. But now I know. I know what happened to his body, and I do find a small bit of comfort from it. What I had made up in my head wasn't pretty, either, so this way it's now accurate. But I know two things after reading everything in the reports
1. He died instantly, there was no suffering. For that I am grateful.
2. His injuries were not survivable.
We've had people ask us things like 'was he wearing a helmet' (believe me, people ask some of the most asinine things when things like this happen. Like they have no filter at all. I know it's curiosity but still - does it really matter now? Come on.) And no, he was not. It was rare that he did, and CT has no helmet law so it was perfectly in his right to not wear one. So back off. But even so, if you want to be critical, here's a newsflash - it would not have made a difference. His injuries would have occurred just about the same. He still would have died in that accident even if he was wearing a helmet. There isn't much that could have prevented his death given the injuries he sustained, I suspect.
I was a bit upset at first because the authorities tried to prevent me from seeing the autopsy report - they thought that I didn't need to see it or read how graphic it was. They weren't going to give it to me and were going to make me go through FOIA to get a copy. As I have said before, I'm not a piece of glass. I am not so fragile that when I see a description of someones injuries I will break in two and not be able to be repaired. I'm a 38 year old grown person who can make her own decisions and who, quite frankly, knows a lot better than anyone else what 'is best' for me given this situation. And what is right for me is certainly not right for anyone else - but let me be the judge of what is right for me. I have known from the beginning that I wanted to see that report. I gave it time - almost 2 months - to dwell over it and make the final decision as to whether or not I really did want to see it. I think that's enough time to really weigh the pros and cons. What I can't do now is erase the (now more accurate) image from my head of what happened. But you know what? I had the same problem before, it just wasn't an accurate image. Which to me is in many ways much worse. Your head will create all sorts of horrors when you don't know what really happened.
I won't ever be able to erase the memory of any of this. The images of what he must of looked like. My own visions of how the accident occurred. Hearing the police officer tell me that my husband was dead. Telling my children that their father was dead. I won't forget any piece of that in all my days.
But now I at least know what really happened to him. And I needed that for some sort of closure and acceptance with all of this.
People often ask me now if things are getting better, or easier. The answer is no, not really. If anything they are getting harder. The day to day life without him is more and more mundane and sad. The reality of all of this is finally starting to settle in as the shock and fog lift. Which is must harder. It was not easy getting through the past weeks. But in many ways the shock of it all protected me. It was somewhat easy for me to ignore what happened and go about my day trying to pretend it didn't. I think that's how I've made it through so far, appearing strong to most, but really just deflecting everything. There are only a very few times I've really let myself sit down and think about the fact that Michael is, in fact, dead. Because going there is too hard most of the time. But I think I'm finally starting to really process it all. And that is, actually, much harder than going through life more or less in denial... which is where I have been the past couple of months.

Naw'lins trip

6/28/14-7/1/14

Mike and I were sitting around this winter (probably February) talking about how we never go anywhere on vacation anymore (without the kids, on our own, to a place we've never been before kind of vacation!). I had just done our taxes and knew we'd get some money back. So I say 'you know what? Let's take some of that tax return and just go somewhere this summer. You and I, together, no kids.' At the time I think we must have been watching an episode of NCIS and they were in NOLA for a couple of episodes. Mike says 'actually this makes me really want to go to New Orleans, I've never been.' I hadn't either - so the deal was if we could find 2 cheap tickets and keep the total for the trip below $1,000 we'd do it.
I did a lot of research, kept my eye on tickets, and purchased them later that month (or maybe early March). My in-laws could watch the kids, done deal we were going. A vacation! And so I began searching for what we should do down there. Which meant I had a list. And Mike knew, vacationing with me is anything but relaxing! I have to do at least a few of the 'top 10 things to do' in a place when we go. Or I may find the need to drive hours to some off the beaten path kind of place. There's no sitting by the pool or ocean all day when you vacation with me!
Fast forward to April and everything happened. As things settled I remembered, holy shit - we had a vacation planned. So I started the process of canceling everything. I canceled his ticket and then got to talking to some friends and family about canceling mine. Almost everyone asked me why I wouldn't still go? I didn't have an answer, other than it was a trip designed for Mike and I, and I wasn't sure I wanted to go without him now. But you know what? He would have wanted me to go. And if the tables were turned I would have wanted him to go. And it turns out I had people willing to go with me and do all these things with me. A number of friends had tried to take time to come with me, but it didn't work out. My 2 sister-in-laws jumped right in and booked tickets and there it was - we were going and this would be a celebration to Mike (have I mentioned here what amazing family and friends I have? These 2 are top notch, I'll say it publicly right now! They are more sisters to me than relatives by marriage). We'd do things that he had wanted to (swamp tour, eat alligator) and that I had planned on us doing together (ride a cable car, drink a hurricane, visit cemeteries). And we had a list beyond that thanks to my amazing friends and Mother-in-law!
Fast forward to last week, and there I was packing. We were really going to do this. I was excited but also apprehensive. I'd built a lot up on this trip and I knew it was going to be emotional. And it was. From that morning driving to the airport thinking that he should be there in the car with me (sorry Meg, you were a gorgeous passenger, though! :)) to sitting on the plane without him next to me (yes I cried when the plane took off). To seeing the hotel for the first time, imaging him there. See I hate flying. I have for quite some time. Love to travel, hate to fly. Mike knew this and always held my hand at take off and landing when we flew together. And if we were in different seats not close to each other (which happened sometimes), I would look around and find him - and he'd lift his hand up in the air so I could see it, and he'd pretend to grab my hand with it. Because he knew I would be sitting there with my leg shaking trying to breathe deep. So this time at take off and landing I held his wedding ring on a necklace that had a small amount of his ashes in it. When we got there the fun began, and didn't stop the entire time. We hit up Bourbon Street, threw beads for boobies, walked all over, did the swamp tour, visited a graveyard, and so much more. I brought 2 small vials of his ashes for his sister and my sister-in-law to have so he was with them for the trip, as well. We toasted Mike. We laughed at the things we think he would have loved and hated on the trip (Bourbon Street would have driven him insane! He hates crowds!) On Monday we walked down to the river front and I took one of the vials and put a tiny bit of ashes in the Mississippi so that a little bit of him is there. Well, it was, it's out to sea now I'm sure :) sorry it was so muddy honey! But I had to share you with the place we should have been together.
And then we said goodbye and came home. I'm glad I went. I'm glad I had such great company to go with me. I refuse to sit back and let this whole thing consume me, even though it gets close to it every day. Instead I will choose to live life for both of us. In a celebration of him, and for him. Every time I feel myself heading down the wrong path mentally I feel Mike put his arm around me and lead me back on track reminding me I don't want to go that way. And he's probably making fun of me while he's doing that. I can just hear him saying 'Snap out of it, Abi! What is WRONG with you?!?' ha.
"Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all." - Helen Keller
Here's to the next adventure that awaits.

I Never Told You

Sometimes you hear a song and it just completely speaks to you. That happened yesterday when this song came on my radio.  Although I think it's more about a break-up, it definitely says a lot of what I'm feeling now that Michael is gone. God, there is so much I didn't get to tell him.

Colbie Callat - I Never Told You 

I miss those blue eyes
How you kiss me at night
I miss the way we sleep
Like there's no sunrise
Like the taste of your smile
I miss the way we breathe

But I never told you
What I should have said
No, I never told you
I just held it in

And now I miss everything about you
I can't believe it, I still want you
After all the things we've been through
I miss everything about you
Without you, whoa...

I see your blue eyes
Every time I close mine
You make it hard to see
Where I belong to
When I'm not around you
It's like I'm not with me

But I never told you
What I should have said
No, I never told you
I just held it in

And now I miss everything about you (still you're gone)
I can't believe it, I still want you (And I'm lovin' you, I never should have walked away)
After all the things we've been through (I know it's never gonna come again)
I miss everything about you
Without you, whoa...

But I never told you
What I should have said
No I never told you
I just held it in

And now I miss everything about you (still you're gone)
Can't believe it, I still want you (And I'm lovin' you, I never should have walked away)
After all the things we've been through (I know it’s never gonna come again)
I miss everything about you
Without you, whoa, no, no...

Father's Day

Note; This was started before Father's Day and finished after, so it jumps around!

 It's been 7 weeks since the crash and now it is Father's Day. Oh boy. This is a tough one. My kids from now on will know this day as a day to remember a father they no longer have. Doesn't seem quite right or quite fair. But it's life. And no one said life is fair, did they?
"Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." - Princess Bride

We made it through the day - but of all the days and holidays I think this one was and will be the hardest. This day was a constant reminder that he's not here anymore. Everything about the day was a memory; What we miss about him, what we normally do for Father's Day, seeing families with their fathers reminding us of him. There are no new memories to make with him, only what was in the past.  I won't lie, I'm happy it's behind us now. And I already dread  next years Father's Day.

Our day was nice - surrounded by family. We did our normal Sunday morning coffee on the porch with Mike. Then we decided to do a balloon release for him and send some memories and messages up for him. I got balloons the day before and after everyone left from coffee, I decided that the 3 of us would do our own balloon release. We attached notes to the strings of 3 balloons and told daddy we loved and missed him, and let them go up as we watched them fly up to him. Of course I cried. Later in the day, we did dinner at my in-laws and let the kids play since it was a beautiful day. It was really nice. We did another balloon release with my niece and nephews and let them go (only to get caught in the trees... we misjudged the wind! haha! Balloon release fail!). We toasted him. I visited the crash site with his mom and talked to him for a little bit. I'm unsure if I have cried so much about all this since that first week he was gone.

I had photo books made for each child that has photos of them with dad and some quotes, and I gave them to the kids on this day. They weren't that impressed, but I know that when they are older they will be so glad they have them. That evening I went home, had a glass of wine after the kids were in bed, and decided that I would open up his ashes and fill the necklace I had gotten (it holds a small amount of cremains in it). I was heading to North Carolina the next weekend for Ashley's funeral, and wanted some of Mike with me to be there for her. And I wanted it ready for our trip to New Orleans as well. So I got him out, and finally opened the black box that has held him since April. He's heavy. The box is probably 15 or more pounds of ashes. The ashes are lighter in color than I thought they would be. The box has his name and a number. That's what's left of an entire person. It's unreal. I got some ashes into the necklace. And then I put some in one of his old flasks that smells like Jack Daniels still, and has his initials on it. And I put that flask on my bedside table, it will be next to me at night forever. And then I put him away again until the next time we have something to do with him (we have lots of plans for him!). He's kept in his gun safe. I'm pretty sure he's smiling about that....

Being thrown into single parenthood

Someone mentioned to me the other day this concept of having been thrown (unwillingly) into single parenthood when you become a widow. It's mind boggling to me, really. How all of a sudden where once we were partners in crime for this journey of parenthood, now I'm alone for it. I'm Batman without my Robin (OK, Mike was Batman, let's be real here). I'm David without Goliath. Wayne without Garth (Kate, are you reading?!?!) I'm half of a whole set of parents  - I now need to be enough to cover both bases on my own and wear both hats - and it's utterly exhausting. I'm mom and dad. Good cop, bad cop. Yin and yang.
And unlike parents who in some ways 'choose' to be single parents (by divorce, or just wanting kids but no partner etc.), it's not something I chose or wanted. That doesn't mean single parents whose partners are absent for other reasons have it better or easier - not at all. It's hard no matter what. But it is different. I was thrown into this immediately, unexpectedly, and unwillingly. This wasn't a gradual loss. I didn't want him to go. I'm not happy or better off because he's gone. My kids aren't better off without him. Which brings an entirely different angle to the single parent life - dealing with grief and loss while wearing the hats of 2 parents. In one instant I became a widow and a single mother. These labels say a lot in some ways. And at the same time say so little. Widow is always something that made me think of old people (I know, I'm no spring chicken - I'm talking like 80 years old, old - not a 38 year old woman with 2 small children). Then single mom can at times have such a negative connotation with it (and so many assumptions that go with it. Did I leave dad? Did I choose to have kids on my own? What's the story here?). I still wear my wedding bands (and plan to keep wearing them for a long time) so that the assumption is that I am still married (I still feel married, and I still consider us married - I always will). But then there's always the awkward conversation that comes up with people who don't know me well just trying to make conversation. 'Oh what does your husband do?'. Do I go along and just say he's a mechanic? If I do, then there's more questions to answer about him. Or do I just do the blunt 'actually he passed away' route. I've done both - neither are great options. One makes people cringe and leave you alone, not knowing what to say. And the other prods more questions making me need to talk about him as though he were still alive which hurts even more. Imagining that he is here. Not dead.
There are things I could never teach my kids that Mike would have. He was so smart about so many things. He knew how to fix anything. I'm SO not that person. So I will have to rely on others for these bits of wisdom. Good thing I know some good people who will instill it in my kids, but still - have I mentioned how much I hate needing help from others?!?! ;) Speaking of which, I need to get some light bulbs and figure out how to get the bathroom fan cover off. I like to think Mike would be proud of me for just taking life by the reigns and figuring all these things out... but he may also be laughing at me knowing how much I really relied on him for so many things. Who am I kidding, he IS laughing about that with an 'I told you so' attitude. And his memory - I now need to keep that alive for my children. That is a heartbreaking job to have. But it's necessary in situations like this.
Now whenever there's an event that is for a Dad my children will have to relive the reality that their Dad isn't here anymore (as if day to day life without him isn't hard enough, right?). And feel that they are in some way 'different' because of it. How do I handle these situations - do I go in his place? Do I send a close male relative to stand in? These are things I'm still trying to figure out. Where's the handbook? Much like when I had kids, I felt like there should be a manual. I'm feeling that way now. I need a manual that can tell me how to do all this stuff, and do it in a way where my kids and myself have SOME chance of being OK down the road, you know? There are a million ways that I can mess all this up, and I'm sure that I'm doing a great job of messing it up right now. My definition of success will be my kids growing up into happy adults whose hearts and minds continue to have their father live on in spirit. If I can do that, I will have succeeded.

Why

So in the midst of losing Michael and recovering from this major life event - that is in many ways unrecoverable - more loss seems to be happening around me. And I'm struggling with a lot of things because of this. Was it not enough that I had to lose my husband at the age of 32? That my kids now have to grow up without a father? A father and mother without their son? No, obviously not.

Bill Forrester

On Sunday June 1, Bill Forrester was killed in an auto accident in Pennsylvania. I've known Bill since around 2001, when I got back into rock climbing and was living in the DC area. We spent many a fond weekend climbing in VA/WV/PA areas. He was a USMC vet and a kind heart. Bill and his wife Judy were at our wedding in NH and it was so wonderful to have them there with us. He leaves Judy and his children behind. Heartbroken and trying to figure out why this happened. And in an amazing gesture, Bill's family is requesting that in lieu of flowers donations be made to our children's fund. They could have chosen any charity, any organization, anything. But they didn't. They wanted to help our family. You see, all these people in my life that I have known through the years from all different walks of life and different times I have gone through - they are amazing people. And I know how lucky I am to have them all (which really is you all reading this!), believe me I do. Many say that it's just a reflection of who I am, the kind of friend I have been, that people around me are so kind and generous. It reflects on the kind of person Mike was, and who we were as a couple. That might be true, but I truly think I've just been blessed to have wonderful people in my life (my husband included) - it's not necessarily a reflection on who I am - but much more how lucky I am to have crossed so many amazing paths over the years. I certainly cannot take credit for the kind of people others are. But I can be thankful that I've had the chance to have all these people in my life, and know and recognize that I'm blessed.

Ashley and Mike at our wedding.

So then, on Saturday, I got the call I was dreading, but expecting. Ashley Shaw - the flower girl from my wedding and daughter of my good friend Anne- passed away after a long hard fight with cancer

(Osteosarcoma). She was 15 years old. 15. WTF?!?!? The kicker? She lost her dad when she was about 3 years old. To the same cancer. How does this happen? In what world is this OK? How is a mother who already went through a loss like mine - losing a husband far too young with 2 young kids to raise - now lose her daughter to the same disease that took her husbands life. There is no explaining this. There is no rhyme or reason.

Ashley was a dreamer. She asked a million questions, and she loved to hear stories. I got to see her last month when they came to visit even though she was very sick. They had stopped treatments, since she wasn't going to make it through them and they were killing her. they had decided that for her remaining time, they would LIVE. And I'm so glad she visited. She got to see my children, who she'd been wanting to meet for years. We got to talk about everything. She asked me to tell her stories, so I told her about how Mike proposed to me. And about how we met each other. We shared stories of when she was younger and we took so many rock climbing/camping trips together. She loved to hear stories. Anne and Bill and I were all rock climbing friends - so this is now full circle. Bill loved Ashley so much, and so did Mike. She was always angelic. And I can just see Mike and Bill and Jeff (her dad) waiting for her when she crossed over. We're laughing about whose lap she wanted to sit on first (see above photo for why - she was ALWAYS sitting in someones lap!). And whose ear she is now talking off constantly!

Now to the heart of my post. Why? Why are people around me dying in such high numbers right now. Did my luck run out after some years of a 'good streak' where no one close to me passed on? I mean it's been like 5 years since I really had a close relative or friend pass. Is there something going on I'm unaware of, and myself and the people around me just are getting dealt a shitty hand now? All this love and all these amazing people who are a part of my life and we somehow get to experience loss after loss now? The cliche sayings are everywhere.
"God needed a few more angels" - I'm sorry but I refuse to believe that any God is responsible for these things. God doesn't need more people dying. I do not believe for a second that God is picking off people in my life like a friggin sniper to fill some kind of imaginary quota.
"They were needed more in Heaven" again, I refuse to believe Heaven needed any of these people more than we needed them here. However much Heaven needs people, for whatever reason - WE NEEDED THEM MORE HERE.
So please don't tell me these good people were meant to meet there ends so soon. There is no reason for it. I've always been an 'everything happens for a reason' kind of person. And I still am in many ways. But I will never, in all my life, find the reason for these deaths. Never. Because they are all meaningless and untimely and tragic and unexplainable. 

If I sound angry, good. Because I am. Angry others have to experience these losses. Angry that there's nothing I could do. Angry that they all died too young and before it was their time. They should be here. They should all still be here with us.

A pain unlike any other

More taken from "How to Help the Grieving":

Please don’t say, “Call me if you need anything.” I’ll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you some ideas:

(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.
(b) Send me a card on special holidays, his birthday, and the anniversary of his death, and be sure to mention his name. You can’t make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the
opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach out on this difficult day.
(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I may so no at first or even for a while, but please don’t give up on me because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you’ve given up then I really will be alone.
(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.

Please don’t judge me now – or think that I’m behaving strangely. Remember I’m grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I’m
experiencing a pain unlike any I’ve ever felt before and one that can’t be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.

I should preface this by stating that if you have said 'call me if you need anything', don't be offended. I seem to be doing a good job at offending everyone around me at some point or another right now - because just about anything I say or write is something that people around me have said or done recently. I'm not picking on any of you or calling you out, I promise. I'm just talking through how some of these things are impacting me, personally. No one is in the wrong, it's just me babbling on about whatever is in my head currently. So if I am writing something that you are taking offense to... well feel free to not follow this anymore :) There I go again. Am I being too offensive? I'm sure I'm just getting started - haha! Oh and if I fly off the handle unexpectedly over something that seems mundane? Yup, it's just me, not you.
It is very true that I don't know what I need right now. So if you ask me if I need anything the answer is, 'I'm fine' and 'I don't need anything' or 'we're good'. Or I can't think of anything. Because I really and truly don't know. What I need is what no one can give me. I need him back here with us. I need to tell him things, I need to see him again. No one can give that to me. So there's nothing else left.
The guilt. I feel very guilty for a lot of things going on - I don't feel like I have a right to be happy or have fun or celebrate things because there's a huge part of me that's missing. Where once I was whole, now I am broken and incomplete. And when I do find myself happy or having fun I almost immediately am reminded that he's gone and the feeling quickly fades to sorrow and sadness. I feel guilty that we fought a lot that week. That I wasn't a better wife. That I wasn't able to help him more. That I was too hard on him a lot of the time. That he possibly died not feeling fully loved by me. I feel guilt on an ongoing basis right now.
I am afraid - I am afraid of moving on with my life without him. I'm afraid of all that is to come without him here. I'm afraid for our kids and what their future will be like without him.
Over 6 weeks in and I think I'm finally starting to enter more of the 'angry' part of grief. Deep rage is a very appropriate way of putting it. I'm angry that he's gone. That it happened so fast without any chance for goodbyes or I love you's. That the person I was supposed to grow old with left so young and there is so much unsaid and undone between us. That his kids have now been cheated of a life with their father. To grow up with so few memories of him, and live without him being at all of their major life events. Graduations, weddings, heck even first lost teeth. They will have all that without him. That they will come to know his picture on a wall better than they were able to know him as a person. Our children deserved better than that. I'm angry that on Easter he was not with us, but instead decided to leave and go for a ride. Why didn't he stay home with his family? I'm angry that I still don't know some details of his death. I'm upset that while some people may be trying to protect me from hurt or pain, they are keeping things from me about his death, which really bothers me. Possibly not realizing that the not knowing is causing me more pain than anyone can imagine. The not knowing is much much worse for me - much more painful than any truth I could know. And I don't need to be protected. I'm not a glass statue. I will be OK with whatever I learn. I'm angry that I now need the help of others to get through this life, even if just temporarily. If I need to go anywhere alone, I need to find a sitter or family to take the kids. If I want some down time to myself, I need help. If I want to do any home improvement projects beyond the basics, I'll need someone to come in and help. Things that used to be just shared between us and easy to accomplish are now impossibly difficult most days. And I'm not the kind of person that likes to rely on the help of others so much of the time.  I'm angry that forever turned out to by just shy of 7 years (well 13 total).
Above all I'm angry that things like this happen to anyone at all, not just me. It's not fair. And I know life isn't fair, but this is one event I will never be able to make sense of or comprehend. It's far too senseless for my brain to wrap around.

The Bucket List

I've been inspired by a website that one of my cousins directed me to shortly after Mike died - One Fit Widow. She is very inspiring - she lost her husband suddenly a few years back and was left with two very small children, and loves fitness (sound familiar?).
One of her inspiring stories is how she is living out her bucket list each year - a list of things she and her late husband had wanted to do together but never were able to. She now is doing them in his memory.
http://onefitwidow.com/making-a-difference-2/team-mitch-adventure-weekends/
Live the List is a part of the non-profit that will help widows achieve items on their own bucket list in honor of their late husbands. The non-profit will sponsor widows to take part in their bucket list adventures. I can't think of a better way to honor Mike - and I know that he would want me to do things for him/with him now that he's not here.
So here goes my bucket list - for you, my Michael. I'll keep adding to it as I remember things we wanted to do together, or that you wanted to do that I now hope to do for, and in honor of, you.

1. Alaska - he would want to hunt bear.
2. Italy -to see where his family came from.
3. Africa big game hunt - he actually was torn on this one. He'd been to Africa but not a very nice part of it. I think if given the chance he'd enjoy a big game hunt even though he wasn't sure about going back there.
4. New Orleans - this trip will happen next month. We had bought the tickets and booked the hotel. I am still going and know he will be with me. He wanted to eat alligator. I'm guessing this means I'll have to give it a try!
5. Grow a garden again - I will do this next summer and Mike will have his own little spot there.
6. Sturgis Bike Rally - this one will take some time, and I don't anticipate going on a bike. But man did he want to go and see it in person.
7. Retire to Montana. Who am I kidding - he wanted to move there years ago. But I always tried to convince him retiring there would be the way to go. We'll see how that works out in 25-30 years :)
8. Gillette Castle with our kids - he had been when he was young and wanted to bring our kids there. This will happen this summer.
9. See Garth Brooks live. He never got to - Garth was his all time favorite country music performer.
10. See Reba McEntire - Mike's 'older woman crush' was Reba. He loved that woman! It would be so awesome to see her live. **UPDATE! She is coming to CT in the Fall and Mike's mom got tickets!!! **
11. Go on 'The Amazing Race' - we loved that show and always thought it would be fun to do together when the kids got a little older. We'd talk about strategy and how we'd be so much better than the other teams.... and how much we'd fight with each other doing it so we would obviously  be good for the ratings! And it turns out they are coming to CT next week for a Casting Call so I'm trying out with my sister in law. We'll make a good team - Team Hoss :)
12. Teach both kids gun safety and how to shoot. I've got a few folks who will help with this when the time is right :) He'd probably of liked to teach them to bow hunt as well.
13.Build a log home for our family. I definitely still want to do this someday!

The Dream

It was very quick, but it was him. I'd been waiting for him to come visit, and I hope it wasn't just my mind playing tricks on me. But it seemed so true to what has been happening.

I saw him last week, early in the morning. He was laying down and looked much younger (around 22 maybe, clean shaven). He had his hands behind his head.
He looked at me and said "I can't believe this has all turned out to be about money". Which to me is his way of half cracking a joke and talking about all the fundraising and benefits that have been going on for our family.
I looked at him and said "Don't you think that I'd give every dollar back just to have you back here with us???". And he started to cry. His eyes welled up and he had tears streaming down his face. And he said "I'm so sorry. I love you more than anything."
And I looked at him and said "You're the love of my life, and I'll always love  you - forever". And just like that he was gone.
It had to be him. 

Things that are hard

Ugh. What isn't hard these days? I will choose just a few to talk about today. Some of them surprise even me. I am hoping that by talking about these things here, they will start to become easier or help me understand them so I can at least deal with them better. At the end of the day there is very little that isn't difficult and doesn't remind me that Mike is no longer here with us. Every minute of every day there is something that reminds me he's gone. But there are a few things that end up being more difficult than others.

1. Seeing/being around couples.

Being around people who are in love, or married, is really difficult. Especially when I see them being affectionate with each other or talking to each other closely. Immediately I am wishing he was here when I see this happen, and reminded that I don't have that anymore. Even if they are arguing about something I'm thinking 'I really wish he was here so I could give him a hard time about something'. Or I want to tell the couple to take a break and remember that they love each other and one of them could be gone at any moment.What a downer I am. That doesn't mean I won't be around them, since that would mean I can't be around most of my family and friends. But I find myself walking away when being around them starts to be hard for me.

2. Thinking about the future.
I'm typically a person who thinks about the future a lot. I'm a planner, by nature. I like to look out on the horizon and know what we've got going on in the future. Trips, events, major things we wanted to or should do. House projects and kids stuff. On 4/20 my ability to do that crumbled. I have a hard time even looking ahead to the end of the current day, let alone think about tomorrow, next week, next month or next year.  Because he is no longer a part of the future, except in spirit. So now when I think about the kids birthdays, holidays coming up ,or other things it's a reminder, yet again, that he won't be here for any of it. And rather than plan and think about it, I choose to ignore it. Just a warning to most of my family and my kids: This year is going to suck for birthdays and major holidays in general. I know I won't be able to plan much for any of it, so they will not be major productions.

3. Striking up conversations.
 It's hard to make small talk now with people who don't know me well, or at all. I am reminded of this when I'm in out in public because casual conversations always seem to go the way of family (since that's a huge part of all of our lives). Many times I simply talk about my husband as though he's still here with us. Because the other option is to tell people what happened and bring the entire group down with me, and then the conversation will center around that for the rest of the time which is exactly what I don't want. So when someone says "Are you married?" the answer is yes. "What does he do for work?" he's a mechanic. But it's really hard to sit and hear people talk about their husbands or boyfriends and plans they have or things they are doing together because I can't be a part of that conversation. And again, I get reminded that he's not here anymore. Most of my plans coming up all have to do with things we are doing to memorialize Mike.

4. Being in public places or at events around my town or work.
It's inevitable living in a small town and having worked at a place for a long time that most people know what's happened. And they talk about it. A lot. And that's OK - if this happened to someone I knew I am certain I would do the same thing. But when I'm out in public, or at events, or at work I know and can tell it's the first thing that is on peoples minds and that they are talking about me. Not in a bad way mind you, but in that shock value way where no one can believe what's happened and they are curious and wondering about me, about the kids, about everything. And there are times I feel like the entire room around me is moving in slow motion and I am standing in the middle with no escape. And I can see people lean into each other and look my way. "Is that her?" "Yes, it's so tragic". I'm "the one who lost her husband". And that is hard, and uncomfortable. And I look forward to a time when I'm not 'that person' anymore, but know that it will probably last for quite some time.

There are plenty more things I can add to this list, but for now these 4 are big ones I've noticed the past few weeks. 

New Shoes

A friend (she knows who she is!) sent me a link to this song not long after I started this blog and said that when I was talking about Mike's stuff still being around the house, and not wanting to move it, this song reminded her of me. A big thank you to her, because I love it and am going to buy the track so I can listen to it any time.

You can hear it here. It's amazing. http://meghancary.bandcamp.com/track/new-shoes

The singer Meghan lost her fiance suddenly and wrote this song about it. She came home and called a friend and said that his new shoes were sitting on the floor and she just didn't know what to do with them. And this song is very much where I am at right now.  Except for maybe the being at peace with it being his time to go. I am not sure I have made that peace yet. And is he with me in spirit? I'm not sure either. I hope he is. I keep looking for signs of him. I've had some glimpses, but are they in my head and am I just reading too much into things? I joke that he's probably right in front of me with his arms waving, angry as hell that I'm not catching anything he may be sending my way - because he always said I wasn't paying attention to anything and head my head in the clouds. I still haven't really moved anything. His towel is hanging on our bedroom door.  I still sleep on the same side of the bed. I talk to him. His pillow now has a shirt he wore that smells like him, but that's starting to fade. I can't bring myself to change the bedsheets (gross, I know) but they are the sheets we had on before he died. He slept on them. His shoes are all over the back porch. His lunch box remains on the kitchen cart. His work clothes are where they always were. His truck is just as it was the last time he used it, I haven't cleaned it out or moved anything. I know someday I'll be OK with cleaning up. But for now, they bring me comfort. They remind me of him. My home has become a sort of museum or memorial of Mike. And I don't want to touch or move any of it. And I think that's one of the hardest things of a life cut short so quickly - there's this instant they just aren't here anymore, and everything is left just as they had it when they were living.

Your new shoes are still sitting
In the middle of our bedroom floor
Your robe still hangs upon a hook
On the back of our bathroom door
I know they’ll come a day
When I put them all away
But for now
I need them there somehow

I’m at peace with the idea
That it was your time to go
But was it my time to lose you?
Is what I need to know
And my friends all say you’re with me
Forever now
Their words keep ringing in my ears
“In spirit anyhow”

I still sleep on the left side
Of our big old double bed
I whisper “Bear I love you”
When all my prayers are said
And I know they’ll come a time
When I leave that all behind
But for now
I need it all somehow

I’m at peace with the idea
That it was your time to go
But was it my time to lose you?
Is what I need to know
And my friends all say you’re with me
Forever now
Their words keep ringing in my ears
“In spirit anyhow”

Your guitar is still perched upon its stand
And I haven’t yet decided
What to do with our wedding bands
But for now
I need them all somehow

I’m at peace with the idea
That it was your time to go
But was it my time to lose you?
Is what I need to know
And my friends all say you’re with me
Forever now
Their words keep ringing in my ears
“In spirit anyhow”

And my friends all say you’re with me
Forever now
I believe them
In spirit anyhow

Our Anniversary

 5/19/2014. Our 7th wedding anniversary. 7 years ago today we gathered with family and friends and make a lifelong commitment to each other. And today I sit here alone, without him for a month now, wondering what to do with the pain and sadness. This will the the first of many anniversaries without him. But today will always be our anniversary, and I will keep counting the years because no matter what, today is the day we married. Even without him here, it will continue to be our anniversary forever. Looking back on this day, though, I never in a million years suspected this is how things would turn out for us.

It was a wonderful day. We were married at my grandfathers farm house in Gilford, NH. We almost had to move the ceremony to the reception location at Gunstock, since it was a rainy day. But we made the call at 2pm that rain or shine the wedding would be at the farm. We had bagpipes for music, a tribute to my late grandparents and Scottish heritage. Loki our husky was our ring bearer. After the quick ceremony (performed by my Uncle Park), we took off in the back of a pick up truck for the reception. It was very 'us' :). Then we ate, drank, and danced the night away. It was perfect in every way. I know they say that no matter what, something will go wrong on your wedding day. There will be some glitch, something you planned and it didn't go quite right. I don't recall anything like that happening at our wedding, though. Oh, except for maybe the bar running out of Jack Daniels... we warned them they would need a lot! And the possible rain. But all in all, not too shabby.

I was so happy, honored, and proud to call Mike my husband. He was an amazing person in so many ways. That doesn't mean that our marriage was a fantasy book - it came with its share of ups and downs. I don't want anyone to think that we had this absolutely amazing relationship that was so perfect. We didn't. We had our struggles - both individually and as a couple. As some have reminded me recently we fought hard and we loved hard. Which is very true. Mike wasn't always an easy person to love. And I wasn't either. And I probably could have been a better wife in a lot of ways - but hindsight is always 20/20. I didn't make things easy on him, I'm stubborn and hard headed. And so was he - what a combination! For better or worse is right - and there were times I felt like 'the worse' far out numbered 'the better'. But at the end of the day we loved each other. And no matter what was to come, I knew that I would love him forever. We had been through a lot together both as a couple and as husband and wife. And we made it through together, which says a lot.


We never did much for our anniversary - might go out to dinner or something like that. But we weren't huge celebrators of birthdays/anniversaries etc. This year, though, we had planned a trip in late June to New Orleans together to celebrate. Neither of us have been there before, so we thought it might be a fun get away for a few days.  I'm still going to go on that trip. I know he'd want me to go... and I'll bring some of his things with me and hope that he joins me.

Gunnar knows what today is, and has assured me there will be 'lots of hugs' for me, and I hope that some of those will be from Mike. Adella sees these photos and lights up at seeing daddy. And when she does I see his eyes. He's always with me I know, because I have them - he lives on in both of them. And today I'll go back down to the crash site and talk to him. Wish him a happy anniversary. Say I'm sorry. Remind him of how much I love him. Ask him to help me get through this. And try to figure out why this all happened.

Our wedding song, True Companion by Marc Cohen.


Annie's Song - John Denver - Almost our wedding song!

You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,
like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

Come let me love you, let me give my life to you,
let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms,
let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you.
Come let me love you, come love me again.

You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,
like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.