Weddings can be a huge trigger for many widow(ers). It makes sense that attending a wedding brings up memories of one’s own wedding day. They emphasize that, at one time, you were married too, but now, your relationship status is somewhat murky, to say the least. Seeing a bride walk down the aisle, with a combination of tears and smiles, and saying “I do” shortly after uttering the words “til death do us part” seems more real when death has done one part.
I'm down in Texas this weekend. It's my first visit in almost 6 months since moving to Ohio. Drew's little sister is graduating... or actually, just did, yesterday. I arrived here on Thursday morning and immediately felt that beautiful rush of comfort of the familiar. The old, wide oak trees, the rolling hills, the warmth of the Texas heat... it all felt so wonderful. Like a dream almost.
I have moved away from many places in my 33 years that held a lot of hard memories for me. When I moved away from home, I left my dad in a terrible state - drinking himself to death. When I left, moving 8 hours north to Dallas, I had no idea if he would even be alive from week to week. There were a lot of difficult times that I left behind there... and each return home was filled with a strangeness similar to the one I felt a few days ago coming back here. That dreamlike feeling... that I was suddenly stepping back into a past lifetime.Read more
This was me, back in 2009. The week Drew and I began dating, we jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. It was a pivotal experience for me... and changed my beliefs in myself and how I dealt with risk and fear in my life. I have always been a cautious person, but every so often, I discovered after this day, I am able to make some pretty big leaps. I'm learning now, that even though sometimes I can make big leaps in the face of risk... I'm not always that person. Especially after his death, I have had to learn to accept that that it can take me longer now to take leaps in my life.
Something really hit me last week as we began to clean out Mike’s basement. For the first time, I started to see a space that I could make my own. A space where my art studio and office could live. I spend more than half my week over at his place, so I’m starting to feel the need for some small bit of “me” over here. That got my mind going about moving and suddenly it hit me… I only have 6 months until the lease at my house is up for renewal. As busy as we’ve been and all the energy I’ve put into just trying to adjust to a new place, that timeline completely snuck up on me.
Before I know it, my mind is in a tailspin about whether or not this fall will mean yet ANOTHER move to merge with Mike. He wants me to move in, and there aren’t actually any real reasons why it ISN’T a good idea… at least not practical ones. No, the only reasons I had were emotional ones. And somehow in my mind those didn’t seem like real enough reasons and so I started to pressure myself and thus the freakout ensued...
I enjoy road trips. Given the time, I would happily drive across the country and back just because I can. This past weekend, Shelby, Sarah, and I drove 7 hours or so from Ohio to upstate New York to visit Sarah’s sister and her family. Being an odd person, a 400 mile drive through fairly boring terrain excited me in and of itself.
We talked the entire drive. Shelby was in the back seat reading, napping, and occasionally piping up with one of her “Shelbyisms” or a random fact that she learned in school. I had a playlist of all different types of music playing, and had the cruise control set just so. There was no traffic or weather, and the roads were smooth.
Somewhere between Erie and Buffalo, my playlist brought up “Let her Go” by Passenger. It is a beautiful song, and ultimately, one of my favorites, but it is also a HUGE trigger song. My finger almost immediately moved towards the skip button, but I caught myself. We had just been talking about Sarah’s forthcoming post (found here), so we were both already in a little deeper thoughts, and I decided to let it play.
Somehow, my computer erased the post I’d been working on this week. I am NOT grateful for that. Grrrrr.
But what I’d planned to say will probably not come as a surprise. It’s Thanksgiving again and it’s just not an easy time for us widowed folk. No matter what else lovely we find in our lives in the strange after-world, it is painful to remember all the happy T-days we spent with our missing loved one; to notice the void at the table.
Some weeks I feel like I’m just going to repeat myself. Because some weeks, nothing much changes. Nothing changes in how much I miss Mike, and nothing changes in how many changes I’m seeing happen in my life. I can’t stop it. Time is hurling itself forward at an increasingly rapid pace…at least, that’s how it seems, some days.
Last weekend, Sarah and I decided to take a drive around the west side of Cleveland. We didn’t have any real plan; just to head out to a small town on the Lake Erie shore, and see where we ended up. Shelby was staying with Megan’s mother, so we were free to have a random Sunday.
After having some lunch at an old soda fountain in a historic fishing village, we started heading east along US-6. It hugs the shoreline, passing through many villages and towns along its route to Cleveland. We observed and commented on all the large houses, the views of the lake between them, and the character of the various settlements. I had never been through this area either. Even though I grew up less than an hour away, I had never had any cause to drive around there. All in all, it was a relaxing, picturesque cruise.
Once we neared Cleveland proper, we decided it was time to start heading back towards home. I left this unfamiliar road, and entered I90, heading towards and through downtown. Weaving through the construction zones, we were forced onto an exit ramp.
Suddenly, I was on one of the most familiar roads I had ever driven on. This exit led to the hospital where Megan had been treated throughout the years, the same hospital where she died.
Last night I went to the movies with some friends to see the new Ridley Scott film, The Martian. It was awesome, really clever, enough suspense to make it exciting and interesting without freaking me out too much, with plenty of feel-good moments.
Going to see a movie was something Dan and I did very often, sometimes two or three times a month. After he died it took a long time for me to enjoy it again because the whole experience without being able to snuggle under his strong arm and rest my head on his shoulders just felt so wrong and hit me square in that big, gaping, aching hole in my heart.
I still find it difficult sometimes, either because I know he’d had loved the movie, or I find myself wishing I could get his opinion on something, or there’s an unexpected trigger that makes me think of his death or, in particular, the way he died so tragically from depression.
Watching Matt Damon in The Martian last night, I found it really affected me seeing how desperately his character fought to stay alive in such dire circumstances.Read more
The more I learn and understand about the grieving process, the more I also clearly see how deeply our culture is uninformed about it and how horribly damaging it can be to some of us already damaged by the loss itself. So be forewarned: this post is a bit of a rant.
My birthday, Halloween, the colors changing on the trees, cool weather, fall festivals, apple cider, all of the other things that occur around this time of year in Ohio have solidified autumn into my favorite season. I’m not much for hot weather, and snow, while looking forward to it yearly, always starts getting a little old after Christmas. Spring is usually too muddy and variable for me to enjoy being outdoors as much as I would like.
But fall? It has always been perfect for me. Until this year.
Megan also died in late fall. This season is now bringing up memories of spending the entire autumn months of September, October, and most of November watching a green line bouncing up and down on a monitor above a bed. The bed that Megan was lying in for 6 months, until she wasn’t.