Dating again...

So here I am. Over a year out, and I decided it was time to put myself back out there. No expectations, no real plan except to meet some people and see where it may go. I have said many times I don't plan on spending the rest of my life alone. But when is the right time to start seeing people after losing your spouse? I haven't dated since I was 25 years old. Things are different now. I'm different now. Having a relationship will be complicated - I have 2 kids who lost their dad and I don't plan on bringing just anyone into their lives. If I date someone they will need to understand and respect the fact that Michael is a huge part of our life. That I will always love him, even though I believe I can love again. That my kids will always love and remember him. We will celebrate him. We will remember him. We will continue to have a strong relationship with his family. And I need someone who is OK with this, and even embraces it, in order to be OK being in a relationship with them.
Dating again as a young widow is a tough situation. When is the time right? How far out is too soon? What will other people think? How will the kids react? How do I balance dating and having 2 young kids? Thinking about it makes me what to give up before I even start.
But the truth is, I feel it is time. It is time for me to get back out there and have some fun and meet some people. Because life is far to short to be lonely and sad for the rest of my time. If the situation were reversed, I would want the same for Mike. If I was gone, I would want him to try and find love again - keeping his memory of me alive for the kids and his love for me in a special place in his heart. That won't ever be replaced. A part of me died that day he left us - and I won't ever get it back. A piece of my heart went with him, never to be returned. But we have big hearts capable of many loves. I've heard some widows describe loving again similar to having more than one child. There is room enough for another, and you love them deeply and not any less or more - just differently. Then there are others who believe they cannot love again and that when their spouses died that was the end for them. I'm not one of these people. We all have our own paths to walk. And mine is mine alone. Not everyone will agree or thing it's right. And that's OK. It's not their path. I will do the best I can for me with my kids at the forefront of the decisions I make. I want their lives to be as normal as possible.
So I have gone on some dates now, and I have to say... this shit is tough. I enjoy meeting people, and talking and flirting. So that's a good sign, right? But it's also a constant reminder that Mike is not here. Every time I think about someone else in any kind of relationship way, his memory is there with me. Reminding me he's gone and what I lost. The excitement of starting to have feelings for someone else is tainted by this huge scar I now have that won't ever go away. But the excitement is there, and that's good too. Another sign for me that I think I'm ready to begin again.
In many ways I find myself gravitating towards guys who are like Mike. They were in the military, work regular blue collar jobs, like the outdoors and hunting/fishing etc. And I am making a conscious effort to not choose to seek those people. Mainly because I cannot replace Mike. And this isn't about replacing him, it's about opening my heart and life up again. Someone very much like Mike would just be a constant reminder that he's not here and I'd constantly compare them. So I've been specifically staying away from those guys who seem to be very similar to Mike.
What am I not enjoying? The uncertainty of it all. Not knowing how people really feel about me and not having any kind of security in a relationship  yet. Going from married to casually dating (and not by choice) is daunting and exhausting. Texting is new to me with dating. It's easy to misinterpret things and blow things out of proportion. And what are the rules for all this? How much correspondence is too much and how much is not enough? Where's the fine line between too aloof and crazy stalker girl?  When I call or text someone and don't get a response for hours should I be concerned? This is ridiculous. I feel like I'm a hormonal teenager back in the throngs of high school. And it's demanding and tiring. If I've learned anything so far it's that I'm really not good at this dating thing. And I really and truly miss the security and comfort of a steady long-term relationship. But I won't give up on it. I do believe I will find happiness again and find someone to share my life with again - someone who will be compassionate about my situation and understand how important Mike will always be in my life. And if he looks like Channing Tatum, you won't find me complaining one bit.... :)

Reminds Me Of You - Van Morrison

I miss you so much, I can't stand it
Seems like my heart, is breaking in two
My head says no but my soul demands it
Everything I do, reminds me of you

I miss you so much, in this house full of shadows
While the rain keeps pouring down, my window too
When will the pain, recede to the darkness
From whence it has come, and I'm feeling so blue

Ain't goin'down, no more to the well
Sometimes it feels like, I'm going to hell
Sometimes I'm knocking, on your front door
But I don't have nothing, to sell no more

Seems like the spirit, is pushing me onwards
I'm able to see, where I tripped and went wrong
I'll just have to guess, where my soul will find comfort
And I miss you so much, when I'm singing my song

Ain't goin' down, no more to the well
And sometimes it seems, I'm going to hell
You'll find me knocking, on your front door
But I don't have nothing, to sell no more

Seems like my spirit, is pushing me onwards
'Til I'm able to see where, I tripped when I went wrong
I'll just have to guess, where my soul will get comfort
I miss you so much, when I'm singing my song

I miss you so much, I can't stand it
Seems like my heart is breaking in two
My head says no, but my soul demands it
And everything I do, reminds me of you
Everything I do, reminds me of you
Everything I do, reminds me of you

1 year ago today...

4/20/14. The day our lives changed forever. I'm unsure how to get through this day. I try to relive that day so often, trying to remember everything that we said and did that morning, and I remember so little of him on that day. This photo to the left is the last photo ever taken of Mike alive. He was working on our neighbors patio while I was at our house with the kids. Not long after this photo was taken, he took his motorcycle out for a ride, and crashed it about 2 miles down the road. I stare at it in awe, wondering what could have been different if we had known what was going to happen. It's a bittersweet photo for me. He was helping someone - which he loved to do. He died doing something he loved - riding his bike. And he's flipping the photographer the bird, which just shows his personality so much. His 'who gives a fuck' attitude at its best. In a couple of hours his life stopped. He ceased to exist. He was just gone. And in that brief second, I lost everything. His family lost everything. My kids lost half of their parental unit. I lost my person. Please think of this when you are fighting or arguing with your husband or wife. Stop and think for just one second - what would you do without them here? What if they walked out the door and never came back. Just gone - poof! What would life be like then for you? If it helps to put things in perspective, I'm glad. If it helps someone realize how much they really do have and how much they take for granted, then that's a good thing. Because I know how it feels to lose all that - and it's not pretty.

Easter morning 2014 - the last photo I have of Mike and the kids.

What has this year been? It's been a constant struggle to stay afloat. It has been hurt, pain, fear, loneliness, sadness, heartbreak and insecurity. It has been falling to the bottom of a deep dark hole and trying so hard to crawl back out of it - but every time I get close to the top I slide back down and have to start over. I have seen amazing highs, and done some amazing things as I discover what life is really all about and how precious it really is. I've smiled wider than I possibly ever have in my life. And I have sunk lower than low into depths that most only dream about (and then they wake up sweating, so glad that it was just a dream - except I can't wake up from mine. It's my reality.). It's been finding out who my real friends are and aren't. It's been sleepless nights followed by never wanting to wake up. It's been a journey of self discovery without my other half. About finding out what I am truly capable of. It's been making mistakes - lots of them - but owning them and working through them. Learning from them and moving ahead, not back. It's been being alone in rooms that are full of people, unable to see clearly. It's been being told I'm strong, but feeling like the weakest most vulnerable person on the planet. It's been a roller coaster of every emotion imaginable (and some not imaginable).

I've been alive around 14,300 days. I'm 39 years old. Since 2001, I have had around 5130 days and nights with you being mine, Mike - starting from our first date. I was with you over 1/3 of my life up until now. And I've now gone 365 days without you here. It seems surreal.  Most days I think I've convinced myself it's not real, and that's how I get through it. Today it was all too real. The first anniversary of your death, and the end of my year of 'firsts' without you here by my side. I made it to the first anniversary, and there were many days I didn't think I would.

So today, I did the only thing I knew to do. I had coffee with you on the porch. I brought flowers to the crash site and your grave. I talked to you. Asked questions you couldn't answer. And I cried. Pretty much all day. I allowed myself to let go of all the emotion I've been bottling up and really just let it all out for the day. I chose to spend most of it alone. I really and truly needed to be by myself today and let myself feel the pain of your loss. My children's pain. My pain. I own it - and most days when it starts to come out from my depths, I acknowledge it and then I fold it up neatly and put it away for another time. Today I did not do that. I let myself be mad, sad, angry, and feel complete and total despair. The kind of despair that only comes from losing a spouse. From having what you saw as your entire future shattered into a million pieces. Many of those pieces are of me as well - parts of our life that were woven together until there was no beginning and no end. Little by little I try to pick some up and put them back where they belong - but I will never be the same person I was up until 1:40pm on April 20th 2014. Nothing will ever make me whole again. A year out and I finally can start to see through the fog, and the first thing I can clearly see is my own reflection. But it looks so different from the reflection I used to see that I hardly recognize it. So this is what a year as a widow looks like. It's no better than the day this all happened. If anything its worse and harder as the reality of this all continues to settle in. I lose you every day - every day I wake up without you, and go to bed missing you. Every day I want to call you and tell you something exciting or funny. Every minute I think of you or the kids ask about you. I lose you over and over again each and every day, knowing I can never get you back. I miss you now more than ever, babe.

Easter Sunday. 2015.

The day has come. Easter Sunday. Lucky for us 4/20 and Easter Sunday won't fall on the same day again until 2025 *sarcasm*, so we get to celebrate and remember Michael's death 2 days in April every year - at least for the next 10 years. Easter and then the 20th. Like with most things, the anticipation of the day was far worse than the actual day. I had decided for my own reasons that this year I wanted some time to myself. I find that I don't say 'no' enough and do what I know it is I need and want. Instead I worry about everyone else's feelings and what they want. This holiday I was going to take for me. I was going to visit the cemetery and do some other things after the kids did their baskets and stuff in the morning. As fate would have it, I ended up in the ER Saturday night with Gunnar who had a terrible case of strep throat. So I was home alone with him Easter afternoon instead. Adella when to Mike's parents where she took part in their dinner and Easter egg hunt. Gunnar would have gone as well if he was better.
It was a nice relaxing day. But it was a long day. A day I couldn't wait to be over with, and when I looked at the clock and it was 9am, my stomach turned thinking to myself how much more of the day was yet to come. The replay of that day going through my head over and over. And as I tried to remember and to forget all at the same time it occurred to me that much of that day is blocked from my memory. I barely remember Easter morning when Mike was at home. I know he was there but I don't remember a single thing he did or anything we might have said to each other. I remember him saying he was going next door, and that was the last I saw him. I don't remember what he was wearing or if he said anything. I remember laying down on the couch to rest and I remember hearing motorcycles. I remember falling asleep and hearing the door open, then making a comment like 'do you think the neighbors could not rev the motorcycles up when our kids are napping?' but I didn't physically see Mike, and he said nothing back to me. He left.
The next thing I remember is being in the shower and thinking of what I had left to do to get ready for dinner. And I remember coming out of the shower and seeing Mike's brother there telling me I needed to come into the kitchen. And I remember there was a police officer there and he put his hands on my shoulders and told me that there had been a motorcycle accident and that Michael was dead. And I remember looking at both of them and just saying 'no, you're joking' over and over again. I don't remember much after that. I was upstairs getting dressed saying over and over 'this isn't real, this isn't happening'. But it was. I remember going to my brother in law and sister in law's house where my kids where taken and hugging them, and trying to just figure out exactly what had happened. But I couldn't make sense of it. I remember going to the crash site that night and seeing the tree he hit. I had to see if for myself. I remember seeing water on the driveway where he had been. Where they had cleaned up. And I stared at the spot knowing that's where he was. I needed to see the last place he was. I needed to have in my head a picture of what that place looked like and try and go through the accident in my head. I remember going to bed that night, not having told the kids yet what had happened. Trying to figure out what in the hell we were going to do. What would I do without my husband? What would the kids do without their dad? How were we supposed to go on? I remember not sleeping, and just laying in a daze staring at the pillow next to me in disbelief. Wishing and hoping that I would wake up in the morning and this day was all a bad dream. No luck there. But there are hours missing from that day for me. And from the following days, as everything zoomed by. Funeral arrangements, logistics, paperwork, the tasks were non-stop. But above all what I felt that day and what I feel now really aren't all that different. I've learned to cope and live with the loss a little bit day by day. But I lost my person. I lost the one person in this world who I was everything to. I was his world. And he was mine. Despite everything that we have been through. And that is what I miss the most. Still today. I miss being someone's everything. The first person they can't wait to call to tell something. The person they say good morning to first, and kiss good night last.The person they can vent to, laugh with, cry with, or get pissed at. Sure I have lots of family and friends who care about me. And my kids - they are my world, of course. And I'm very lucky for that. I have people in my life who will drop everything and come be with me if I needed it. And that is wonderful. But they all have their own lives and loves. I'm not everything to any of them. I lost my everything that day. And now I can be surrounded by people, but still be alone. I go and I live my life with a huge piece of myself and my life missing. But I don't have anyone to share it with anymore. To share my bad day (or my good), frustrations and triumphs. I sit down at the end of the day and I am alone. My everything died that day.

Happy Birthday, baby.

What do you say or do on the day that would have been your 33rd birthday? 33. You never even made it to see 33. The thought of it is almost too heavy to really and truly comprehend. I try to remember last year. What did we do for your birthday? I don't even remember. These are the things I wish I could recall. The little things. Which really are the big things when you think about it. I remember stupid things like song lyrics. But I can't remember what we did for your birthday when you turned 32 - not knowing it would be your last one with us. That you'd never get to live past the age of 32. I could probably find photos around that time and piece it together. if I try. But I think as with many things these days everything just kind of muddles together. The memories from before your death are sometimes hard to recall. I don't like it.
So the question remains... what do we do on your birthday? We celebrate is what we do. On your actual birthday, January 14 - we got together with your family for dinner and sang happy birthday with an ice cream cake you would have loved. The kids blew out the candles for you. I took photos of it. I wanted to remember this one. And two of the photos had something very weird happen in them.

 Megan was taking photos at the same time so I thought maybe the flash from her camera did something. But these are very clear distinct lines in the photos.
I'm a skeptic with things like this. But it's hard to explain it. My phone had never done this before. And it hasn't done it since. So I doubt it is a camera malfunction.
The weekend after we all celebrated at the East Side German Restaurant which is where I planned on taking you for your birthday this year (at least I remember what I PLANNED for your next birthday right?!?). It was bittersweet. And I won $5 on a scratch ticket - on the number 17 no less. 17 was your hockey number. And it was the 17th of January I won it. So many coincidences....  it's hard to ignore them.
Look at those two faces. They miss you, Mike. Their lives have been completely and totally devastated with your loss. And I can't fix it or make it better. This is the life they now have. And as a parent I want to be able to change it for them. But I cannot. They talk about you, they ask for you, they want to remember you. And most of all they want you back. We all just want you back.

My rings

So the time came for me to take my wedding rings off. This is something that is a highly personal decision and one of great 'debates' amongst widows, as it happens. Some take their rings off immediately. Others keep them on forever. Some decide to leave them on another finger/hand and get a 'widows ring' for their left hand. Whatever you decide, it's a very personal decision and there is no 'right' or 'wrong' - only what feels best for you individually. There have been a number of times in recent months that I started to be a little uncomfortable wearing my rings. As if I was holding onto something a bit too much. False advertising or something. I'll always be 'married' to Mike, but technically I'm not really married anymore, am I. Wearing them at times did spark some conversations that made me uncomfortable as people I didn't know well or had seen after a long time and were unaware of the situation would say 'oh you're married - tell me about your husband!'. Um, yeah. Where to start?! The conversation could head one of two ways. I pretend nothing happened and act like Mike is still here. Or the truth comes out and the conversation comes to a screeching halt. Either way, it made for some semi uncomfortable conversations or comments. Not that I should mind, right? It's my story and a huge part of who I am. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that sometimes, when talking to people I've just met, it's nice to not have the centerpiece of the conversation be about my husband dying and me being a widow. Because that's where the attention goes to when it comes out. "What happened? How long ago? Do you have kids? Oh my God they're so young. I'm so sorry. That's terrible. How ARE you?" Yeah, it is terrible and believe me you don't want to know how I really am, so can we move on? Debbie Downer. And if you know me, you know I'm not a person who wants everyone feeling sad for me and having my tragedy be the center of everyone's chat.


Another reason was that wearing the rings can also cause them to be damaged or, God forbid, lost. I plan to get the rings inspected and cleaned at our jeweler soon so that they are in good shape. I worry about losing the diamond off of the engagement ring, and then not having it at all. There's huge memories attached with those rings. I vividly remember picking out the diamond and setting with Michael. I will never forget the exact place and time that he proposed, and how when he tried to put the ring on my finger my hands were so swollen that it wouldn't go on. We'd just hiked up a mountain and my hands were all puffy. Then finally getting it on my finger back down at the car when the swelling went down. Staring at it as I tried to drive home. I'd waited for that moment for almost 5 years. And I'll never in all my years forget the day he put that wedding band on my finger. And I'll never forget putting his on him, either. As we said our vows at the farmhouse in NH. More reasons not to wear them now - Adella or Gunnar may want the rings later in life to use as their own. I want to make sure to preserve them.

Right now, it feels pretty odd to not have them on. But like all things I think it takes some getting used to. I won't feel 'right' right away. After wearing them for over 7 years my finger has a huge dent in it anyhow. I rarely took them off for anything, I wore them pretty much constantly. When we got engaged it felt very weird to wear a ring all the time - I'm not a big jewelery person. So like that, not wearing it now will take time to get used to as well. There are probably some who find it offensive - like I'm out looking for someone else now or something. That couldn't be further from the truth. It has nothing to do with being perceived as single or available. It has everything to do with learning to live this new life that I have been handed. I still keep them close. I have a necklace my in-laws gave me to hold them around my neck. I wear them often - close to my heart. All together, as they should be. And many times I find myself putting my fingers in Mike's wedding band. Remembering the meaning and symbolism behind such a simple piece of metal. That he was mine, and I was his. Imagining him still wearing it. Knowing that his ring is one of the only things I have left that he was wearing the day he died. It was on his finger that morning when he was alive and it was still on his finger after he was gone. There is a strange sense of peace in that.

Christmas.... and New Years.

"We made it". This is my mantra for the year, really. We made it through another milestone. Another first. Another 'without Mike' event. Christmas was in New Hampshire, and it was a good distraction to travel with the kids (despite the stomach bug finding me on the way...) and it was wonderful to be surrounded by family and friends. Bittersweet small moments followed me. My sister, who is amazing, had a stocking for me on Christmas morning. At the bottom? Swedish fish. My favorite - and exactly what Mike would have put in my stocking. Filling the stockings and putting out presents for our kids... alone without Mike to share with and laugh with. Or complain with (especially when they wouldn't go to sleep!) Seeing the kids eyes fill with wonder as they got up Christmas morning. Sharing smiles as we gave and received gifts with my family. The kids both received a gift from Dad this year. As they will continue to get over the years. Something I know he would have wanted them to have. A gentle reminder that he is still with us, and still loves them, and is to be remembered.
New Year's was Christmas with Mike's family. That was a tough one. Some thoughtful, heart wrenching presents given and received. His absence felt continuously. To make some light of the situation, I wore a shirt his mom had given each kid a few years back that says 'Mom loves ME best' on it. I then proceeded to put on his red union suit that was given to him another year. Two things that reminded me of Mike and the holidays. Reminding us that he is always with us, as his memory lives on forever with all of us. I will never get tired of talking about him and sharing stories of him.
New Year's was even harder than I had thought, as I have awaited 2015 for so long. So ready for 2014 to be over with and the year to be in my history books. Then 2015 came, and I realized what I was leaving behind in 2014. I was leaving behind the last year Michael was here with us. 2014 will always be the year he was still here. The year the kids still had their dad, and I had my husband. 2015 is here now - a year that Michael will never be present in. All this time I was so looking forward to leaving the year behind, only to realize that as time goes by, Michael gets further and further from my rear view mirror. I'm moving forward in the vehicle of life and he's stuck on the side of the road behind me. I'm always looking back making sure he's OK and he's still there. Always have my eye on him. But the view gets smaller and smaller over time. Days go back to 'normal'. We go to work, we go to school, we go home. We wake up and do it all over again. The sharp pain of the loss is there in my rear view mirror when I look back. Hitting me like a knife in the heart right into my soul. But as time goes on, I realize that I don't need to look back quite as often. I have begun to look forward to things in life. I am reminded daily of how important it is to live. Not just for me and my children. But for Mike. His life was cut short far too soon. The least I can do is live a full, good, happy life for him - something he didn't get the chance to do. So my resolution for 2015. Ah, forget it, I don't do resolutions. I do hopes and dreams. My hope is that I never forget, in all my years on this Earth, how precious the gift of life is. And my dream is that I continue to live life for Mike. Do things he would he would have wanted us to do. If he can't be here to do them, I will do them for him.

USMC birthday and Veterans Day

11/10 and 11/11
2 very important days in Mike's life. As a Marine 11/10 is always a day to celebrate - the birthday of the United States Marines  in 1775. We were lucky enough to attend a few Marine Corps Ball's over the years to celeb
rate this event. The pride in Mike's eyes knowing all he had accomplished as a Marine was immense. It is safe to say that Mike lived to be a Marine. From a young age it was apparent to his parents and siblings and friends. As an adult he was proud of his service above just about everything. Except possibly his kids :)
Veterans Day 11/11. I feel like this sequence is a double whammy for me this year. Two days I would have been telling Mike how proud I was of him. 2 days we would have celebrated together. Now only me celebrating.  Gunnar had an assignment to bring in something for Veterans Day to school. So of course he brought photos of his dad. As both the kids will probably do for many years. Their pride in their father overflowing. Their own private hero.
I think they hit me out of nowhere. I didn't expect these days to be difficult. But grief does that to you. Comes up and bites you right when you least expect it.

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.