It’s been 5 years. In that 5 years I’ve changed in so many ways. I’m still the same old me, but different. Daniel didn’t know this me. The one that survived his loss, the one that has been raising our child by myself. The one that bears the burden of making it all happen, all day, every day.You’d think it would make me more serious, all of this…
Widowed
If You Weren’t Dead
Over the past five years any time that I have done something that I believe Phil would have either actively disliked (getting a tattoo) or probably didn’t appreciate (leaving his ashes in a locked safe for three years) I have used this phrase, “Well then you shouldn’t have died,” to justify my behavior.This phrase when looked at from another angle…
Exhaustion
Exhaustion runs through me so thoroughly that I am sure my body now uses it in place of 30% of my blood.I can’t think. Eating feels too strenuous unless I can rip open a bag. And then if I do, what I eat is so tasteless that I end up spitting it out into the garbage. Why bother making the effort to chew that crap. I look haggard, drawn, tight.
It Took
It took 3 years to do it. 3 years to put up the Christmas tree. The Christmas season has always been a favorite of mine. Growing up, I remember walking down the stairs to those twinkling lights and the warm sense of joy. I loved the season so much that Michael and I got married on December 23rd.After he died, the season and everything it meant died…
not all bad
When we think of being widowed, we most often think of the sadness, the loss and the loneliness created in the wake of our loss. We reflect on what once was. We imagine and recreate what could have been ‘if only’. We long to be transported back in time to when life seemed sweeter and kinder. Rarely do we think of the blessings we have gained. The…
things.
one by one, with each trip to minnesota, they started to appear. new to me. new to maddy,but obviously only new to the two of us. first it was the bucket of crayons. then the silk pillow and matching silk blanket. then the baton with the water and green glitter inside. this trip? a plastic doll house and all the accessories that belonged inside. no…
Bitter Sweet ….
…. is the word I use to describe the upcoming Holidays now. Not as sucky as they’ve been (I hope), nor as sweet as they used to be. Jim died exactly one week before Christmas. Three weeks before his birthday.My “death march” begins right before Thanksgiving, as I remember where we were that year, what we were doing, how unsuspecting we all were.
Roses for Deltha
In what has become a tradition of ours, this Tuesday my kids and I placed roses in the sand. We tend to commemorate milestones related to my wife and especially the anniversary of her death by going to her favorite place, the beach. Inevitably whatever flowers we have wind up being planted ever so gently in the sand. Some years we’ll add a short…
How to be Thankful.
I just returned home from dinner out with the kids. It’s a nice rainy night, and we were all so warm and cozy inside the restaurant. It was the usual mix of merriment, and frustration, with us trying to have a good time, yet my daughter and I having to sit through the boys’ ongoing bickering. I shouldn’t be too surprised, as I don’t think I…
The Black Hole
I’m reading a report from a development optometrist Ezra saw last week. It’s a second opinion. I didn’t read the first report. I tried to… but it was too hard. Both reports highlight some of the things Ezra is struggling with in school.It spells out several areas he needs help in, like the need to work with a reading specialist. It tells…
Comfortable
It happened. I’d become comfortable. I’d accepted the fact that I must survive…thrive in this world without my soul mate. It became acceptable. It became something other than a curse. Then it happened. News. News that I was not supposed to deal without him by my side. News that made me want to screw the comfortable and scream for the past. News…
crushing
I have a crush. A sweet, secret, hang-out-with-our-kids-at-the-park, crush.When I see him, my heart does its best impersonation of a two year old having a spastic temper tantrum. I worry when I’m in his vicinity, that I act too eager. Talk too fast. Stare too intently into his kind, blue eyes. Fear that I may spontaneously transform into a giggly…