That means my anniversary run…
The 4th marks 4 years since our wedding day.
The 11th marks 6 years since we met
The 14th marks 3 years since Ian died.
Come the 18th, he’ll have been gone loner than I knew him.Read more
Two days ago, I experienced my first Mother's Day without Megan. Had you asked me back in January how I would have handled it, I would have expressed sheer terror at the prospect. At that time, just two months since losing her, all I could imagine was that I would be an emotional train wreck, and would probably have just called my mother and mother-in-law to wish them a happy day, and stayed holed up in my house.
That isn't what occurred, however. Yesterday was "OK", for lack of a better term.
Our tradition for the past few years had been for Shelby and I to wake up early, go downstairs, make a mess of the kitchen preparing bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee, and bring it to Megan in bed, along with a card and a small gift. Shelby would turn some cartoons on and we'd sit and talk, all three of us, until Megan was ready to get out of bed. It was a simple acknowledgment of how special she was, and that we would do anything for her. We would clean up the kitchen and get our day started, where we would be visiting our parents and probably going out to dinner in the evening.
I woke up Sunday at that same early time that I always do, fully aware that it was Mother's Day, and painfully acknowledging the fact that for the first time in eight years, Megan wasn't there to cook breakfast for. The dogs, having woke me up, were fed and let outside, and I went back to bed. The bacon stayed in the freezer, and the coffee pot sat there cold.
Shelby needs to have an example of what a caring, devoted man, father, and husband should be. She is a mere 8 years old, but I believe most readers here will understand when I state that, well, I might not be here by the time she's 18. It's a cold, hard truth that should never be swept under the rug or glossed over, and I can unfortunately speak from experience.Read more
Another number away from the "2012" in which Ian died.
One thing I read late last year was people doing a 'word' for the year, not New Years Resolutions, which seemed a far more sensible way to go than dragging out the perennial resolution that never gets stuck to.
The word that stuck out to me at the beginning of the year was Faith.
Not religious faith, but ...
Sunday marked two and a half years without Ian.
The first year, I decided to mark the date with a visit to a iconic local Christmas light display - do something nice with John on the day that we'd done with Ian.
It's something we've done each Christmas since.
Well, attempted to.
This year's attempt was not as disastrous as last year, but not great either.
A weekend evening is a bit of a mad-house there, and I have to accept that John gets over-stimulated and wound up by crowds and noise. Sunday wouldn't be as bad as a Friday or Saturday, but summer school holidays have started, so there would likely be a bigger crowd than earlier weekends. So I opted to not do it on the day to hopefully manage his response a bit better.Read more
For today's post I'm not really writing wearing my 'widow' hat, but my 'mother of young boy' hat. But I probably wouldn't have the same perspective on this situation if I were not widowed.
This past week a young Australian sportsman, a cricketer, was injured on the field and passed away from a rare brain injury caused by the impact of the ball. Phil Hughes passed away surrounded by family and team-mates from both state level teams and the national team. Team mates who'd kept an almost constant vigil for two days, supporting the family and each other.
It's an incredibly sad loss, and one that's left the country, and cricket players and aficionados around the world, grieving. Not just because of his age, but the cause of death and that it was due to a freak accident in a sport with a relatively low risk of significant injury. Muscle injuries and broken hands are common, but it's not a sport you expect anyone to suffer a catastrophic injury while playing.
Because of this young man's national and international sporting profile, there's been 24 hour news cycle wall-to-wall coverage. As such, I watched the press conference presented by the national administrators and captain that was held a few hours after his death was announced publically.
Saturday morning I woke up with a 103 temperature.
So as soon as a reasonable hour hit, I called my parents, asking if they could look after John for the day.
On short notice.
Yet another thing I hate about widowhood. That sometimes you need to call on assistance to the point where you KNOW it's impacting others. Maybe asking them to go that step beyond their general helpful-human being willingness to help. Especially if your circle of available assistance is limited.
John's hospital stay threw me out of sync. Not just in terms of the stress that came out of that situation with the additional health implication for him because of Daddy's illness, but I've lost another week of time in my brain...
I still feel like I lost a year.
Over the weekend our church community celebrated the marriage of two members, and friends there celebrated their 18th wedding anniversary, so the discussions naturally drifted to how long various couple have been together/married. So I joined in talking about how long I'd known Ian and how long we would have been married.
And I keep missing a year - the 2012/13 Australian financial year is pretty much gone. Even writing this post I've had to sit and really think about dates and time. I hate that it's not off the top of my head, that I need to go back and mentally calculate - "it's 2014, we married in 2011, that makes three years since we got married".
I didn't get to write last week... I was with my son in our local children's hospital after he developed an autoimmune thingy.
First while being assessed in emergency after some four hours of the usual waiting and it's 2am, the doctors tell me even though he isn't a typical presentation they suspect something called Kawasaki's Disease, and the biggest concern is if it goes on too long it can cause issues with the coronary artery.
Of course, this heart-issue widow hears with respect to her only child: "this disease is easily treated however you need to know it can cause issues with his heart blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.
I'm struggling writing this week. I know the general gist of what I want to say, but some of it keeps seeming harsh, uncaring, like I'm an insensitive bitch. Because it's about the relief and positivity I've figured out I find in Ian's death anniversary.
This past weekend was the second anniversary of Ian's passing. And although it may sound odd to many, my experience of it was a positive time of transition. I was sad, and there were some bitter sweet moments, like me mentioning to John that daddy played field hockey, while we watched some highlights from the world cup, so John went up and asked which was daddy... little hard. I explained again that daddy died, but stifled a bit of a giggle, since daddy wouldn't have been playing women's field hockey!!
But I also felt a weight had been lifted. And in general living life terms, it was just another ordinary Saturday with swimming lessons, me working on uni stuff, cleaning, laundry, playing with John.
Having now passed through 2 cycles of anniversaries, I'm certain my really hard period is March, when Ian got sick and I went through what was for me the most traumatic part of the illness that lead to his death. He should have died that day, and I spent most of the day feeling the weight of that. And I began to grief the loss of what our life would have been from that moment. But as much as March is my heavy anniversary, there is a weight that sits in the background up until his death anniversary.