You know those bumper stickers that say things like, “My Other Car is a Porsche?” The implication is that the driver isn’t quite satisfied with their real car and that they have a much nicer one parked at home. I can appreciate this sentiment.My “other car” is my other life—the one I was supposed to be living right now complete with a…
widow
Not Feeling It
There are many days, weeks and months that the grief that was born after Jeff’s death has crippled me. Days that no matter what I do, the sadness and loss steal over me and infect every thought and movement with pain. Weeks where I can feel nothing but the ache that has accompanied this journey and months in which the sorrow manages to reek despite…
I Can’t Make Up My Mind …. Part 1
…. I really can’t. Not about everything, but by a couple of kind of big things, one of which I have no control over whatsoever: my sons and their similarities with their Dad.Son #1 is so much like Jim that it amuses, stuns and stops me cold sometimes. I find more humor in it than sadness, but there’s still the sadness. He has the same dry sense…
The Value of a Friend (part One Million and One…)
These are the faces of a few of the women who celebrated 40 with me in Vegas… interestingly enough, all of them had read last week’s blog and were still brave enough to go! Thanks guys! I’m not usually as black as last week, and I think I stirred up a few worries with that post. It is what it is, and most of the people in my life get it, or at…
Awkward
When I meet people for the first time I feel like I am keeping a secret from them. Looking at me, they would never guess what I am hiding. I can carry on an intelligent and interesting conversation without revealing the circumstance of which my new acquaintance is unaware. Depending on who they are I may even artfully dodge inquiries that would…
Julie Andrews and Starting From The Beginning
Like Matt, I realize I need to start from the beginning. Art and I were married for 14 years. We have three children. On August 24, 2006 he was diagnosed with Large B Cell Lymphoma, Stage IV, primarily in his lungs. He was an athlete. In March 2007 we were told he was in remission. We lived apprehensively at first, always fighting right before he…
Once In a Lifetime
Michael and I always wanted to see the world with each other. We had it all planned out. After he and I graduated, we would go to Europe and start our travels. From Greece to tropical terrains, we’d see it all (leaving a few places for after retirement) and then head back and start our family.Fast forward to 2007 and our “plans” fell to the…
what to lose when it’s all lost
If I take an inventory of all of Jeff’s things that I have clung to, stored for safe keeping or discarded since he died, I realize that to an outsider, these items would seem like random detritus. Debris. Maybe even junk. I have managed to let go of many of his ‘collections’. The plastic Stanley Cups he collected from some fastfood restaurant. A…
My Own Private War
I had a flashback this week. Out of the blue, as they always come. Knocking me over as only the force of a tsunami wave can. You know the kind.I was driving home from work and it had been a good day. Several good days, in fact. Maybe that should have been the warning. But who wants to keep looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next wave to…
Put on a Happy Face (Part 1,439)
Yes, here we are once again…trying to put on a happy face. Tomorrow is my 40th birthday, and although I could care less about the fact of “40”, the birthday itself is hard. Not the 40 part, just the birthday. Four years ago I spent my birthday in the emergency room at MD Anderson, then in the outpatient surgery center, and as a celebration of the…
Still Helpless
Michelle and I have been doing this widow thing side by side for almost four years. When we met we were both newly widowed, and shell shocked. Each of us watched our dreams for the future unceremoniously demolished as one minute passed into the next. Thrown into a whirlwind of grief we discovered each other in the eye of the storm.For the first…
When Is He Coming Home?
I want to write away the pain. Sometimes I think that’s why I write. I know that’s why I talk to people, why I spend the energy to explain to them what this process is like. The more I talk the more distance I have from the process. The more distance I have from the process the less like mine it feels. Or the more sense I can try to make of…