"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.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Friday, January 2, 2015
USMC birthday and Veterans Day
11/10 and 11/112 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.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, November 14, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, October 6, 2014
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?
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?
Thursday, September 18, 2014
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."
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."
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