In Awe

3_1_10.JPGI have experienced using the word death, or the word grief, or the word widow and having people physically step away from me. I have been told that since I am young the death of my husband isn't as large a tragedy as it might be if I were older, since I am sure to remarry. I have been asked whether or not I am "over" my husband. People have looked at me from behind walls, sunglasses, the back of their cars, and then purposely walked the other direction. I have been told that finding another man to love would mean that Phil was not my soul mate, because how could you replace a soul mate? I have been asked to explain why I still talk about my dead husband when I have a new one waiting in the wings. I have been asked how I can possibly listen to the stories of other widowed people day in and day out without wanting to jump off the nearest bridge.

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KIM.jpgI don't remember how Art kissed.
I remember how it felt.
Warm, sensual, desired, sexy, girly, vixenish, delightful.
When the connection was right, our kissing opened a door
that lead to ....

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I wanted to touch base on guilt, as I believe it has played a role in my grief with Michael's loss.

The guilt that he died and I lived.

The guilt of the things he never got to experience that I now have been.

The guilt of having eyes to still see this world's beauty and ears to hear its melodies.

The guilt of knowing that he would have handled this pain, loss, and life better than I could, if it had been me to go instead.

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the bomb

jackie.jpgOccasionally, I will meet a stranger in a line-up or a clerk at the store who notices my oft-perceived masculine purchase of a hammer, a litre of oil or a case of beer. Sometimes, people standing close by will make a comment about my husband and how lucky he is that I'm buying him this case of beer, picking up the oil or replacing this hammer.

When Jeff first died, these comments hurt. They broke me. They reminded me, as if I needed it, that he was gone. Dead. And I was alone.

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another 25th

fucking 25th
i thought we were
going to skip this day?
here it is, 25th #3,
#3 of a billion yet
to come.
not awesome.

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Venting ....

janine.jpg..... I am angry this week.

I'm more than angry.

(I'd say that I'm pissed but I don't want to appear un-lady-like.)

I'm angry at a certain person and the anger is magnified because he's not even here to notice or deal with it.

Yep, I'm angry with Jim .... who's been dead for 2 years and 2 months (but who's counting?).

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Do You Mind?

MNH.jpgHi honey,

It has been such a long time since I have written you a letter. In fact, my eyes are welling up now realizing that I talk to you all the time in my heart but those words are no longer committed to paper. Remember the letters I wrote to you every day for the first year? I spilled my frustrations, feelings, fears, and memories across every page. More often than not the ink ran because I cried all over the journal paper as I scribbled frantically all the words I desperately wished I could speak into your ear.

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Dance Party

KIM.jpgI'm never sure how they start.

But there is this collective agreement.

A collective need to release the energy.

And so one of the kids turns the music on and we are having


We take turns recording our latest and most definitely best dance moves with our Flip.

We don't care if we are out of rhythm (which rarely happens because they inherited my dancing ability, not Art's...phew.)

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Do You Have a Lighter?

I've been able to reach the life I deserved. Just as stated above. But then the sparks fizzled...went that life slipped through my fingers with fate's plan.

This past weekend though, in the presence of those acquainted with the loss of their love, their soul mates, the sparks reignited, pilot light by pilot light.

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Fill the Void?

jackie.jpgThe thought occasionally enters my mind now and then that maybe I should date. I'm lonely. I want someone to talk to. Someone to spend time with. Someone to care about and have care about me. But then, I wonder, am I just looking for Jeff? No one is EVER going to measure up to him. No one is ever going to have his sense of humor, his sexiness, his strength, his gentleness. I don't want to replace him. I know that would never be even remotely possible. And I worry that anyone I find would be exposed as glaringly lacking compared to the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

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