Summer is here. Shelby’s last day of school is tomorrow. Work is slowing down, after the “sales” season rolls into the “build” season for the company I work for. Weekends are a time for rest and relaxation. Time to get things done around the house, and to spend time in the woods, at the beach, or just taking in an overnight trip somewhere with Shelby and Sarah. I FINALLY get to spend more time with my family.
Only, none of that is true. It has been an endless series of holidays, birthdays, baby showers, slumber parties, and family visits for almost two months. It is to continue until July. That’s right...every single one of our weekends is spoken for already until July, and none of it has been planned by Sarah or I. Hell, she had THREE birthday parties to go to this past weekend, a baby shower next weekend, then ANOTHER birthday party the weekend after that. I seemingly get no say or respect in the matter, and it’s about to come to a head, where I will forcibly isolate myself from any and everyone.
It reminds me that Megan is gone.
This weekend we took our traditional camping trip with my parents. My oldest son as been going since he was two. It's a big blue grass festival, which isn't really my thing but it's always a blast.
We go up into the mountains where there is no wifi, no tv, no ac. Just you, the ones you love and nature.
It's easy to be happy up there. To forget all your problems and just enjoy what's around you. There is so much beauty and life. God is all around you. It's a very peaceful feeling.
I won't lie, I've cried quite a lot the past few days. It may just be that time of the month making me extra emotional… but it’s also a lot more. It will be my anniversary in a few days… eight years ago next week is when I went on my first date with Drew. The following week, just seven days later, will be the 5th anniversary of his death.
It’s hard to imagine he has been gone 5 years, but surprisingly, this fact isn’t the one getting to me. Perhaps because I spent the first few months of this year already processing the “5 year mark” being here, I almost feel as if that has already passed. The one that is getting me though, is the other milestone.
We would have been together for 8 years now. Instead, we only got three. THREE. And I know, no time is ever enough. Not three, or ten, or fifty. But I do feel like there is a specific kind of heartbreak for young couples that had so very much unfinished life to live. We hadn’t even moved in together yet, much less gotten married or started a family. And so much of that was slated to unfold in that very year when he died. So much was already in the plans to be happening. It will haunt me forever, the unfinished stuff, I know that. And I know it’s normal for it to be worse as I get closer to this day. It just sucks I guess, there’s not much else to say there.Read more
18 Months. 564 days. A year and a half has now passed by without him. It doesn’t feel like that long ago, but then again it does. Some days it feels like yesterday that we were sharing kisses. Other days our life feels like a sweet distant and faint memory. Some days it’s not real at all, as though we just lost contact somewhere along the way. I imagine and dance with the idea he is away somewhere living out a happy and full life. Somedays I like to pretend ill see him again in this life. None of my day dreams change how much I miss him.
There is no longer much left in my house of the life we shared. His clothes, I have packed away. His toiletries, packed away. His tools, packed away. Out of sight but never out of mind. People rarely speak of him now, speak of us. I miss hearing his name being spoken. I miss hearing stories told about him, even if they make me cry. Tears are worth the sound of his name. How I wish for more than just memories.
His ashes rest in a pendant around my neck. The pendant is a reality check, I cannot pretend he is away when part of him is with me. Which part I wonder at times. These thoughts are sickening, sorrow filled, painful and yet to be peaceful. I want all of him with me. In life not dust. I long for him in the flesh. I long for the warmth of him, but instead of his warmth I wear a cold chain around my neck. Although it brings me pain to wear it, I do not feel as alone when he is with me.
I find myself smiling with life and without thinking about it the pendant becomes pressed to my lips. When I feel afraid, stressed, worried alone, the pendant is clasped in my fist. And I can speak to him, cry to him as he were here. It’s both comforting and depressing.Read more
Dear Dead Husband,
It will be 6 years next month, since you died.
So, I think that's more than enough time to conclude the following:
This widow thing?
This "you being dead" thing?
This "not what I signed up for" thing?
Not a fan.
I've decided I don't care for this.Read more
Last week in my nutrition course we heard some amazing lectures about Blue Zones. If you don't know what Blue Zones are, they are communities in various places around the globe that share common lifestyle and environmental factors that contribute to their populations being among the longest-lived and healthiest on the planet. These areas were first identified and labeled by Dan Buettner of National Geographic magazine and was the featured cover story in November of 2005.
Sardinia, Italy. Okinawa, Japan. Loma Linda, California. Nicola Peninsula, Costa Rica. Icaria, Greece.
In these areas, people are found to eat a traditional, largely home grown and plant-based diet - but more important, stressed Mr. Buettner in our lecture, they share a sense of community and purpose. They have close-knit families and communities which create a strong social network of support and compassion, regular physical activity and positive and healthy lifestyles.
My dearest D,
It’s been 4 years and one month since you left me. I know that you didn’t want to leave me. If it had been possible, you would have fought tooth and nail, with every breath in you, to stay with me. You couldn’t…the cancer that ate away at your body demanded nothing less than your life as its’ price. And on that April night, when the night air was filled with the fragrance of oleander and orange blossoms, you took your last breath and gave up your spirit.
I don’t know where you are, D. Do you know where I am? I’ve made everything as pink as I can, just in case you can see me from somewhere. From anywhere. Can you see me?Read more
Way back in September of 2012, Megan, Shelby and I took our first backpacking trip together. Shelby was only 5 years old, and Megan was almost two years past her lung transplant. I meticulously planned the trip, choosing the Blackbird Knob trail in the Dolly Sods Wilderness, in West Virginia. I was already intimately familiar with it, knowing the various campsites, creek crossings, and hills along the way, but neither of the two of them had ever been.
I chose it because of the safety factor. I knew that we could ramble in about a mile before we came to a creek that I wasn’t comfortable having them cross. Just downstream from that point, there was a beautiful backcountry campsite where we could spend the weekend. I limited them, purposefully, so that I didn’t have to worry about Shelby trying to rock-hop across a fairly sizable creek, slipping, and being washed downstream. Nor would I have to be concerned with Megan, who was still getting her feet under her on dry, flat ground in her recovery, experiencing the same.
This past weekend, Sarah, Shelby and I took our first backpacking trip together. Shelby is now 10 years old, and Megan has been gone almost three years. I barely planned the trip, deciding on Monday that we should leave on Friday for the Blackbird Knob trail in the Dolly Sods Wilderness. I’m still familiar with it and all of the campsites, creek crossings, and hills. While Shelby had been briefly acquainted with it, Sarah had never been.
When Joey passed away my kids went to a small preschool near where we live. I never imagined how important this place would become to me. The day after his accident my daughters teacher showed up at my house, I was a little surprised because her and I weren't very close. But she said she felt like she needed to be there and would just sit if that was ok. Another mom started a gofund me account for us. Other days several other moms and teachers came to bring food or just to check in. They set up a daycare service the night of the funeral for parents to attend. Other the next few weeks they still showed there love. They would come by with dog food or presents for the kids. The following fall my son was in the four year old my daughter had been in. His teacher offered me a part time job helping out a few hours a day. It was perfect because my youngest was now attending the 2 year old class. Over the course of that year these people became more like family to us. They remember dates and important things. They were there for my kids and me.
This past year I worked there full time with the four year olds. This wasn't something I had ever wanted to do but to my surprise I had a blast. Kids are so pure and innocent. And don't get me wrong being in a room with 23 four year olds can become very stressful but the good always out weighs the bad. One the two year anniversary of Joey's death I didn't go into work. But after a morning of crying and visiting the crash site I knew there was one place I could go and find peace. School.
I am honestly not even certain what this has to do with being widowed, but it sure as hell has to do with death and loss and trauma and fear. Often times, I begin writing not knowing what will come and find that what needed to be cleansed comes to the surface on its own. I suppose, as someone who is learning to mother the child of a widowed person, it may relate for someone out there. I hope so. Either way, it seems this is what my soul needed to say today.
These past 2 years, I’m learning to mother a young girl who lost her mom a few years ago, and all the while I’m working through my own fears and the ghosts of my own past having lost my mother young as well. Maybe this is all coming up because we just had Mother’s Day and Mike wrote this heart-wrenchingly beautiful post last week about my role in Shelby’s life. Either way, I guess this is what needed to come out for me this week...
I had no idea just how much having a child in my life would bring up all of my own unresolved stuff from my childhood. It makes sense now, but I was truly and completely clueless when I first stepped into this shit (I am imagining every parent smiling right now). To say the least, it is both an incredibly healing and immensely painful process of unraveling pieces of my own heart day by day. Pieces that have been dormant for many years. Some of this stuff I didn’t even know was there.
Letting a child in has proven to be the very scariest kind of openhearted vulnerability that I’ve ever attempted. Guys, this shit is HARD. And it isn’t hard because she is a difficult kid. She makes it so easy on me. It’s hard cecause of course, you can’t really get by with being half-connected or faking it. Kids know. And I know deep down, I have to try my hardest to push past my not-so-great coping mechanisms and my own past trauma to be there for her.