Sometimes, okay, let’s be honest, more often than sometimes, it feels like the best part of my life is over. She is gone. She is gone. And, she is gone. However, at the same time It feels like this is the best part of my life because I get to raise a fantastic daughter. Even though I know that it would be so, so much better if Natasha were still here, there is something magical about this time in my life. I just need to figure out how to work from home, and then things will be easier. Being diagnosed as being visually impaired doesn’t have to be a huge hindrance like losing my wife. But at the same time, come on! How many challenges do I have to face back to back!Read more
The past month or two has been tough. This time of year usually is. It’s the time of year that led up to when Drew died. These months were some of the happiest in our relationship. He had just gotten his first job as a pilot and was finally living his dreams. We were beginning to look towards our future together, towards a wedding and a new chapter of togetherness. We were at the height of everything and going exciting places… when the crash changed all of that in an instant.
It’s already a hard enough time of year. In the background of living day to day life, I get flashes of memories of the last time we went out to dinner together, or the last time we went for a hike or the last birthday we celebrated together. Flashes of all the happiness and laughter that were ended so abruptly in a crash.
On top of all of that, our anniversary is just a week before the day he died. Forever those two events slam into me almost simultaneously… a one-two punch. And of course it has been on my mind for weeks now leading up to this week. But this time, something else happened on our anniversary a few days ago.
This time, the thing that I never ever wanted to happen, happened. For the entire day of our anniversary…
For the entire day, I was completely unaware of what day it even was. And the whole thing went by without my even realizing it was that special day. It is the horror of all horrors as a widow... to forget an important day. And let me tell you, when it first hit me, I was completely horrified.Read more
Things are hard.
Life is hard.
Sometimes I am convinced that life is much harder for some than for others.
Sometimes it feels like I can never get a break.
Sometimes it feels like I will always struggle and things will always be really hard,
and that is just how my life will be.
I dont know.
None of this is fact.
Clearly, 4 ½ years is far too long to miss the love of your life since society continues to tell me not to miss my wife anymore. The thrust of the conversation is aimed at pushing me to stop talking about missing my wife and get over it! As a result, we all learn to judge our social environment carefully before bringing illness, longing and/or death, if only grief weren’t so powerful.Read more
This blog will be short because I had a lasik procedure this week and my eyes get tired quickly.Read more
Whenever my daughtyer and I sleep next to each other there is a space beside us.
When I am getting Anisha ready for school there is a space next to us.
When we sleep next to each other, there is a space next to us.
When we have breakfast, lunch and dinner, there is a space next to us.
When we walk to a playground, there is a space next to us.
When we go for chocolate ice cream, there is a space next to us.
Space, spacc, space, always so much space that was once occupied by her touch.
When your spouse has a long-term, terminal illness, it’s very easy to devote all of your attention to their well-being. I rationalized for years that there was quite literally nothing as bad as what Megan was going through, so anything regarding my own health or person was minimal.
It wasn’t healthy in and of itself, but in the grand scheme of things, I felt “fine”. Megan was the important thing to focus on, just trying to get her to the next day, week, or month. I would simply hold down the fort at home while she was in treatment, go about the routines, and worry about myself later.
It’s now “later”.Read more
My daughter has a friend over for a playdate today and it has been a good introspective snapshot of where I am at. I keep thinking that I have all of this new confidence, but some remnants of the old me remain, like persistent weeds that always finds new tunnels to the surface.
Seems like being a widower means adjusting my view of the world to an existence of being damaged, marred and/or scarred for the rest of my life. Life is now about managing the constant reminders of love lost. Maybe, just like my poor eyesight, my grief is becoming a deficit that I will have to carry forward as I am constantly reminded of the song, Motherless Children by Blind Willie Johnson and covered by Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan and many others.Read more
Yesterday something happened at a doctors office that sent me straight back into 23 years ago,
when I just barely lived through a traumatic event,
and joined the ranks in becoming the 2-words that I would grow to absolutely loathe
,and feel shame about for a very long time:
After awhile, I began shifting from using the term "victim", and replacing it with "survivor,"
but this change in vocabulary did not do anything for my lifelong trauma and PTSD and massive bouts of anxiety and panic.
Calling myself a survivor instead of a victim was supposed to make me feel more powerful somehow.
But trauma has all the power, and when it wants to take you down a few notches, it makes itself known.
Trauma is a funny thing.
Well, not "ha-ha funny", but more peculiar funny, I suppose.
Trauma and PTSD lie dormant, and then come back.
They sit still for hours or days or months even, and then something happens to bring them out again,
roaring and screaming and pleading to be heard.Read more