Well the past two weeks I have been absent from blog writing. The first anniversary of Tin’s passing was quickly approaching and I honestly was scared. Scared to think about it. Scared to talk about it. Scared that when the day came, it would make it more true. For the first few months, holidays, birthdays I felt like it was a short enough time span to still be a dream yet the passing of the first anniversary meant it really wasn’t a dream. It wasn't a nighttime nightmare. It was reality...

As you may have read, Sarah got a “tattoo” on Saturday.  It’s a simple henna tattoo, with a complex and meaningful backstory.  A sun, symbolizing her dad, a moon, symbolizing her mother, and seven stars, symbolizing Drew.  These three celestial objects imprinted on her forearm remind her of a connection to those she’s lost.

While not permanent, it will last at least a week or two...kind of like a prototype for the real thing.  She will see it every day, and be reminded of those three losses. She’ll also be reminded of the people they symbolize, and the life she experienced with them.

January is when Megan was first diagnosed with chronic organ transplant rejection.  February is Shelby’s birthday. May is Mother’s Day, June is when she was admitted to the hospital, never to come home again, July is her birthday, August is our anniversary, September is when the next year of school starts for Shelby, October is my birthday, November is when she died, and December, is well, the “holidays”.

March and April though have no special “milestones”.  I can’t really think of any specific memories or significant happenings that have or will occur as it relates to Megan and her death.  I get to “coast” through these months, in a sense, fairly comfortable with believing that I shouldn’t have any “predetermined” triggers.

I did it. Maybe I didn’t outwardly realize I was doing it but I did it. I ignored the rising flood.

I know what it means to be sad, afraid and angry, but what does it mean to be truly, truly happy?  Lately, I find myself feeling more and more bored with life—and it’s not the kind of boredom that comes from depression.  It is a very different kind of boredom because it is SO much lighter!  It is hard to explain, but it just feels lighter.  Depression boredom is heavy and is based on a bunch of fearful thoughts that lead nowhere good. 

For much of my life, I have been what can best be described as “grumpy”.  I’ve tended to over-react and or see the worst in things, and myself. Something as simple as going to the grocery store brought out a part of me that only wanted to see the worst of humanity, followed by a reaction resembling anger, then followed by regret and shame at said reaction.  It’s a vicious cycle that culminated in my general tendency to either want to be completely introverted, or to only seek out things that allow me to be alone, yet enjoy an activity.

I always find something to blame for these traits.  Work is stressful, money is tight, bills are too high, it’s too cold for too long, I don’t have enough time in a day, or any other number of outside influencers gave me an “excuse” to just be angry or reactionary to the tiniest little stressors in life.  More often than not, I placed the blame squarely on myself. I couldn’t handle work, I spent too much money or signed up for needless services. I’m too stupid to put a coat on and go outside, or I’m just plain lazy, and not using the time I DO have effectively.

In some ways, Megan’s health masked this.  I was so laser focused on her well-being that I didn’t ever take the time to self-examine and really try to figure out why I am the way I am.  Honestly, after her first transplant and subsequent relative good health, I didn’t know what to do with myself other than self-deprecate and become introverted.  It caused issues. She finally had the ability to enjoy life, and I wanted only to sit in the house and “relax”.

I’ve had very few visitors since Tin passed away. I don’t know if the reason is avoidance, being unsure of how I’ll be with guests or just that life goes on and we become too busy for the little things.  Approaching the first anniversary of Tin’s passing, as the warmer month’s and spring break approaches, I’m starting to get the calls to stop in for a weekend.

Anger, my good friend, anger.

You are so reliable, so constant,

yet elusive,

sometimes I can’t see you, but then suddenly you appear, snarl and bite.

you are always there, always so patient,

you never shut me down and tell me to look on the bright side,

with you, I can ‘be dark’ and talk about death whenever and wherever I want.

You are always deep in the core of my chest, sometimes you are almost dormant,

other times you shoot lava everywhere,

and then I get to grunt, bark and scream!

Why do you let my grief scare you?

Why can’t I just talk about Natasha how ever I want?  She was MY wife, not yours!

Why can’t you just listen and try not to fix me?  “You just need to focus on your daughter’s smile, and everything will be alright.”

Why do you give me an arbitrary timeline and act as if it is the word of some God?  “So, how long has it been since your wife died?”

Why do you try to insist on measuring the severity of my grief by saying, “So, have you been dating?”

Why do you need to suggest that a man needs a woman to raise a girl, “Girls need a mother, it’s just good for them.”?

Wow, you really are an expert on grief!  So have you ever lost a spouse, no?  How about a parent, sibling, or good friend,  no?  I guess you haven’t had much experience with grief, yet you are so wise when it comes to my grief.

I know, I should relax, you are a good person and you are just trying to help, and, maybe I am being too sensitive.

All I ask, please let my grief be just the way it is.

     I find that my deams often reveal the detail of my grief.  In a recent dream, my wife was scolding me for my parenting approach, “You too often let her get away with not eating fruits and veggies!”  Clearly, I have not moved on from feelings of self-doubt about my parenting skills.  I know most parents struggle with healthy food options, but I know it would be A LOT easier to feed my daughter if Natasha were still here.  She wasn’t just a good cook, she was a great food researcher: I didn’t have to read labels and search websites, Natasha would just say, “Buy this, and not that.”  This is where relying on our community is very helpful.