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.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
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.
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.
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