Just before Christmas, in 2002, Megan and I met. A few weeks later, and I was already invited to her family’s home for Christmas dinner and gifts. I was accepted into their clan with open arms, and I’ve been a part of their family ever since. I’ve been at Christmas dinner in 2005, not long after Megan’s brother died. I was there in 2010, a week before Megan got her lung transplant, where we weren’t sure if she would be there for 2011. I was there in 2014, a month after Megan died, followed a few weeks later by both her grandmother and great-grandmother.
I was there last year, where it seemed there were more people missing from the family than were present. By Christmas this year, Megan’s grandfather has also passed.
One would think that this holiday would become more and more somber each year. The family is seemingly shrinking, if one looks only at those that are no longer here.Read more
Saturday marked two years since Megan’s death. I could sit down to write about how it was a horrible weekend, curling into the fetal position and crying more often than not. I could note how the minute I woke up, a tightness seized in my chest and a chill shot through my body. I could give an anecdote about walking through our dining room, where Megan’s ashes rest, and not being able to keep my composure.
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.
Everyone has their own coping mechanisms when dealing with loss. Some turn to creative pursuits, creating paintings, books, photos, and sculptures that serve as an outlet for pain and frustration, and a visual representation of hope. Others become quieter people, spending less time socializing with friends and family, and more time socializing with themselves. Many of us turn to others that have experienced a similar loss, attending events like Camp Widow and perhaps preferring to isolate themselves with their “tribe”. There are even those who become self-destructive, turning to the artificial self-medication of the bottle, or worse.
Next week, I’ll be 36 years old. I had my first job at 15 years old, joined the Marine Corps at 17, was discharged at 22, and began working in the civilian world immediately thereafter.
I was married at 24, a father at 26, and a widower at 34. For 21 years, almost two thirds of my life, I’ve been working, playing, learning, and growing. It has been “go, go, go” since before I was able to drive. For the most part, I’ve kept up the pace. Sure, it’s been stressful, but I’ve never felt physically incapable of providing for myself and my family. I’ve never been too tired to take a leisurely drive or cast a fishing pole. Yeah, there are days when we all just want to lie around on the couch and do nothing, but those days have usually been few and far between.
Bills need paid, lawns need mowed, trails need hiked, people need fed, plumbing needs unclogged, books need read, and cars need washed.
If there’s one thing Megan taught me above all other things, it was that you have to live life as much as possible with whatever time you have.Read more
Just last week, I wrote about how, for the most part, random triggers are few and far between for me. Even trying to actively trigger myself has become difficult. Wouldn’t you know it? A day after writing that, an event occurred that randomly brought tears to my eyes for missing Megan.
As silly as it may sound, it was a video game that gave me that moment of pause and reflection.
When Shelby was born, Megan and I thought that it might be a good idea to buy an XBox and a few games. We would be spending much more time at home, with Shelby being a newborn, and Megan not being in the best of health at the time. Prior to her arrival, we were consistently away from home, attending car shows, hiking, travelling, going out with friends, and generally being 24 -year-olds. That would be changing with a daughter, at least in the short term.Read more
As has become more and more typical, I find myself sitting down to write, and not having a clear topic on where to focus. The fact of the matter is, though I miss Megan, her death and absence is not all-consuming. Far from it, actually. Trying to spin an anecdote about my day-to-day life into something about grief or loss is exhausting sometimes, because grief and loss is not what my day-to-day life consists of.
I still have Shelby here. Her schooling and upbringing is part of my day-to-day. Going to work, paying bills, and taking care of things at home is part of my day-to-day. Sarah is officially moved in with us, but we’ll still be organizing, merging, and unpacking her things for a while. That’s part of my day-to-day.
Megan died on November 19th, 2014. A thought of her is part of my day-to-day, but to be honest, it’s a small part.Read more
"The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness - John Muir"
Over rolling hills and through meadows full of goldenrod, studded with purple asters, I took a walk yesterday. It is almostautumn here in Ohio; officially just a few days away. My favorite season.is quickly approaching. So too was it Megan’s favorite season. Harvest festivals, halloween, hooded-sweatshirt-weather, the changing of the leaves, and big puffy lake-effect clouds dotting bright blue skies make it the most colorful and dramatic time of the year.
It’s been quite a long time since I stepped out for a hike on my own. As much as I enjoy and desire solitude, it is still more enjoyable to be with Sarah and Shelby on a walk in the woods. Between Shelby noticing every little chipmunk, snail and caterpillar (of course, giving any creature she discovers a name beginning with “Mister” and some variant of “fluffy, squishy, or slimy”, depending on species) and Sarah’s wonder at the environment of the woods up here, versus Texas (Maple trees are slightly more robust than Mesquite trees), I take as much in enjoyment watching them have the experience as I do experiencing it myself.
Watching them is something new to me, and I noticed it by being alone on this particular walk.Read more
Last week, Shelby started the fourth grade. This is the second school year that she has begun without Megan doting over every paper she brought home, every picture day, PTA meeting, or fundraiser flyer th
at seems to be more frequent than homework. Her peanut butter sandwiches (which she eats every day for lunch, no matter how much we suggest otherwise) were “crafted”, not “made. Dropping her off at school, Megan would walk her to the door, hand-in-hand.
Retrieving her at the end of the school day, there was always a milk shake, followed by a snack, and then Shelby completing her homework while Megan browsed every paper contained in the backpack.
It set a standard that I, in no way, believed I could ever achieve. It was one of my largest fears when Megan died; that I would somehow set Shelby up for failure because I couldn’t keep up with the pace Megan did when it came to school.Read more
What would have been Megan’s 35th birthday was a few weeks ago, on July 24th. I would venture to say that, for most widows and widowers, birthdays are one of the hardest days to remember. They are associated with memories of fun times, friends and family celebrating that person’s day, and yet another year “in the books”. To have that annual event suddenly take on a different meaning and a different remembrance affects all of those who knew and loved that person.
Megan’s came and went this year with what has been typical since her death. I’m grumpy most of the day, but we do something to remember her, keep occupied, and have an enjoyable day in her honor. Cliche as it is, yes, it IS” what she would have wanted”. Multiple people ensure they post to facebook about how they miss her, and say “Happy Birthday” on her wall. Heartfelt paragraphs about things they remember doing with her, or “breathe easy” are digitally pushed to her in the afterlife via keyboard, somehow. There may have been a few less posts this year than last on that day, but still, her friends remember her birthday.
A few days later though, and facebook is silent. Memories tend to fade when you don’t have automated reminders popping up, don’t they? As far as the internet is concerned, life moves on until the next year, when suddenly it seems like everyone is thinking about her again.
I don’t have that option. I think about Megan...every...single...day. It’s a matter of HOW MUCH I think about her that changes, and August 6th was a doozy.Read more