So, it's the day after Thanksgiving, and I write here on this blog each and every Friday. Except that I don't. In actuality, in order for the blog to go live on Friday, midnight Pacific time, that means my writing deadline is 3 am on the East Coast, the night before Friday morning. Last night. Now you know all the ins- and -outs of the widowed publishing blog world. Riveting, isn't it?
Believe it or not, there is a reason I'm telling you all of this, and it's not to bore you into a deep, deep sleep. I'm telling you this fascinating tale, because it's now 9:30am east coast time on Friday morning, and here I sit, post-Thanksgiving day, furiously typing this piece and hoping that Soaring Spirits and Michele don't finally realize how unorganized and forgetful I really am, and kick me out of this exclusive widowed writing club that I came into kicking and screaming in the first place. Bad Widow!
Last week one of the parents of a child I teach had a bit of a tantrum after school one day*. It seems her daughter missed out on having an iceblock with the rest of the class because she had been away the previous day.
In her seething mother-rage, she shouted at me "It's not FAIR that Cathy misses out on an iceblock. The rest of the class had one and she DESERVES one too".
This is a post I wrote on my blog ten months after Jim died. I thought that I'd share it with you today. I don't go back and read most of my posts. I don't like re-visiting that "cave". Especially those days where that cold, inky blackness totally engulfed me, filled every pore of my body and threatened to completely suffocate me.
But once in a while I'll remember a "lighter" post, which trust me, were few and far between back then. I thought this one was interesting. I hope you do, too.
I have report cards due in the next few weeks.
Work is hectic as we finish up assessing where the kids are at.
Home is stressful as my own kids finish off assessments that their teacher need to assess (but DON'T get me started on teachers who allow assessments to be done at home in primary school and just how many parent's are earning their kids' grades).
I am busy pretty much all of the time right now.
This Saturday marks 3 years since Jeremy took his last breath.
How can that possibly be?
Every year, I am in awe of how crazy it seems that so much time has passed, and yet how far away it seems when so much life has been lived in between. I have truly experienced more in the past 3 years than most people do in a lifetime. Since Jer died, I've bought 2 houses, purchased a new vehicle, traveled all over the country, lost and gained friends, dated and remarried, blended a large family, moved out of state, had a baby without his daddy, and am preparing to have another child with another man. Surely these things couldn't possibly describe MY life...
This post is going to sound like an underhanded grab for compliments ..... but bear with me, it does relate to being widowed and it does ask a genuine question....
I took this selfie this morning on the way to work. We had a special breakfast in celebration of the Melbourne Cup - the race that stops the nation. (Trust me - it's a BIG DEAL here and the dress code is frocked-up with fascinator).
"I hate goodbyes" Every time Dave and I would say goodbye for more than a day or so, we'd reenact this scene from Dumb and Dumber.
I'm in the disorienting world of goodbyes again as I navigate the end to the first real relationship I've attempted since Dave died. Fortunately I have the most amazing friends who have helped keep me afloat but the sadness is right there at the margins, waiting to take over if I stand still long enough. I'm beaten down and tired of goodbyes and of crying until my eyes are alarmingly swollen. I've become almost fascinated with the levels of redness and swelling my eyes have achieved in the last few days. I'm thinking of documenting it for a medical journal.
A friend is also facing the end of a relationship and we were talking about breakup basics: how to know you've tried hard enough and it's time to let go, how to know someone is "the one", previous embarrassing relationship mistakes. I found myself explaining how I knew Dave was TRUE partner material for me. I had so many stories of how I knew he was my one, that finally it dawned on me. If it is to happen again for me, I will recognize it when it comes. It will be obvious. It will not be hard to figure out. DUH.
...... and day.
I wrote this post for my blog yesterday.
I don't have the energy to write anything else at the moment.
So you get to experience what I experienced.
Buckle your seat belts.
I'm staying in NY an extra day, though I'd much rather be on my way to Texas than sitting here, feeling what I'm feeling.Read more
...... same passion.
I had a discussion this past weekend that I've had several times before.
It's a discussion that I am so passionate about ...... that it brings tears every single time it occurs.
All it takes is four words.
Four words that set me off quicker than most any other words can (unless they're negative words about my children).
"Suicide is so selfish."
A very wise woman (also a widow) once me that when things get really-rock-bottom-bad; find a distraction.
A new distraction that doesn't carry the weight of memories that include him.
I do a range of things at 2am when the darkness creeps in. I read (always a solitary activity for me), or play endless games of solitaire and then pin things on Pinterest. Anything soporific enough to induce sleep.