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…
Widowed by Illness
Here and Not. Me and Not.
I know I’m not actually a split personality. I haven’t disassociated from my body. There is nothing really wrong with me because what I’m going through is normal. I know this. This grief, though. Whoa. My brain sometimes slips into my consciousness the suspicion that maybe I am a split personality. Or whatever word it is that would…
My vs Our
Driving to the supermarket last week I had the overwhelming feeling that this baby is very much an addition to our family. To Ian and I’s family. Although in no way is the baby a replacement for Ian, as the pregnancy progresses it feels like Ian is less distant now. There is a feeling of completeness, not end, not ‘over it’, but very much…
This Point
I reached a point in these last few days. I need to stop looking (albeit unconsciously) for this sharp cutting edge of grief in my body to stop. I need to stop looking for that elusive something that will take it away. Cut it away as carefully as a surgeon’s knife, leaving my body and heart as intact as it was for my 24 years with him.
This day. Today.
Today is 2 years since my beloved husband Chuck died. I’ve always used the word died since he…died. Don’t care at all for the other, gentler words. Not at all. I need the harsh words to remind me that he is indeed dead because there is a part of me, somewhere inside of me, a part I can’t identify, that just doesn’t believe that he’s dead or…
Believing….or Not
I’m not in denial. I know Chuck is dead. I feel it…have felt it…in every part of my body since 2 years ago, April 21. He’s gone. Gone, gone, gone.And yet, I swear that there is still a part of me that doesn’t believe it. That can’tbelieve it. How can he be gone when he and I were so connected? How can it be that I’m walking on…
Setting a Standard
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…
Idle Thoughts as I Approach 2 Years
I’m in total disbelief not only that Chuck has been dead for 2 years but that I’m still alive. How is it that I haven’t died of a broken heart? I’m going to counseling. Dr. Shima is going to do EMDR and aural acupuncture, both to assist in (hopefully) dispersing the block between my emotions and intellect. That block, she surmises, is what…
What’s in a Name…MKII
One of the things I really struggled with in early pregnancy was the idea of having a second boy. I really, really wanted a girl. Not because I outright didn’t want a boy, but because I had absolutely NO idea on a name. Ian and I had a girls name – Claire – agreed from our pregnancy with John, so I wanted a girl so I didn’t have to worry about…
Keeping it Simple
My goal is to live as simply as possible. To own things that do not own me. To give things to our kids now so that they don’t need to wonder about what to do with these things of mine when I’m dead. Much of this is an easy process for me, since Chuck and I sold most of our belongings when we hit the road in 2009. Since his death, I’ve…
Expect the Unexpected
Megan had not only given me permission to “move on” again once she was gone, she had outright demanded it, years before she died. She refused to take my heart with her, leaving a hole in me that could never be filled. This is why, in the deepest pit of my soul, I believe she has brought someone new into my life in the best way…
Desperation
A few weeks ago, I became fully, wide-awake aware, that this grief was killing me. Not enough so that I’d actually physically die, but enough so that I continually felt as if a meat slicer was in my chest, merrily chopping away at my innards. At the same time it was as if an anvil such as blacksmiths might use, was slung around my neck,…