Ninjas and Tsunamis

The proverbial "they" say that grief  and anger are commonplace in my particular situation. What they don't tell you is how sneaky those feelings are. One of my fellow widda friends coined it as ninja grief, and I think it is incredibly accurate. It sneaks up on you without warning and steals your breath away. Steals your sleep away. Steals your happiness away.  your life away. As quickly and silently as it arrives, it departs; leaving no trace of what has come before. For me, it is not so much the grief that sneaks up on me, but the anger. The ninja anger sneaks up so suddenly that even I don't notice it sometimes. Other people notice though. Apparently it leaves a ghostly sadness about my person. I always look sad. Or angry. Or indifferent. Even behind my smiles and laughter people can sense that there is a shadow that hangs over me. I have never been an angry person. Ever. But now, the smallest things set me off.

I get angry when I think about how forgotten I feel.
How forgotten I feel B is.
How forgotten my kids must feel growing up without a dad.
How afraid I am that I am never going to be financially stable.
How very much not fair this whole thing is.
How alone I am.

"They" also say that grief comes in waves.  I call bull on that one too. Well, sort of. Sure, it comes in waves. But not Gulf-of-Mexico-lap-at-your-ankles kind of waves. Not even normal oceanic waves. The kind of waves I'm talking about are full on tsunamis. Ones that start out with a little tremor, and end up devastating everything in its wake. The tremors can be anything...a song on the radio, a mannerism in your child that reminds you of your lost love, stumbling across a letter that they wrote you. Then the pain comes. That little ripple that you are unable to stop and you know it going to hit you. You sob. Gut wrenching uncontrollable sobs.

 In the parking lot of the store where you had to pull over because you heard that song.
 Slumped over the desk with the drawer open where he kept his cards and letters.
 Curled up on your bed so the kids can't see or hear you.

Then it recedes. It takes a while, and what is left is not the same. It is a mess. You are a mess. Not a  beautiful mess,  but a muddy, mucky, debris strewn wreck that takes a while to clean up. There are people that help, people who volunteer to sweep up the debris, pick things up, and try to put them right again. But nothing ever goes back in the exact same spot. Nothing ever fits just right again.

Beginnings

Everything now feels like a beginning. There is not a day that goes by that I don't encounter something that I never thought I would have to deal with. Emotions when I hear a piece of music. Tears when I drive past a certain intersection. Even going to his work (where B passed away) to get routine car maintenance performed requires Herculean effort to keep it together. On the positive side, there is getting my son he help he needs by myself without spousal support. Going back to school for the first time in 15 years and maintaining a 4.0 GPA. Realizing who belongs in my life and who doesn't. Learning that it is okay to miss him and still okay to move on with my life. Dealing with my first heartbreak since B passed and living to tell the tale (actually with a better sense of self than I started).
     Embracing new beginnings is a scary thing. Starting your life over at 35 years old is a ridiculously scary thing. Starting your life over as a 35 year old single mom with no idea on how to navigate the next 50 years without your life partner is absolutely terrifying. Financial instability, no permanent home, uncertain future; all of these are so frightening that my mind is paralyzed just trying to imagine how I am going to figure that out. These are the times when I wish there was some magic fairy that would just show up and show me that everything is going to be ok. Show me in their magic crystal ball that I am going to get my own house, I'm going to graduate, get a good job, and that my boys are going to be well adjusted adults.  That I will find someone who wants to be with me and will love me, warts and all. That all of this happened for a reason. That at some point in my life I will be able to walk into a room and not have someone tell me I look sad.

 So, magic fairy, if you're out there.....hit a girl up, 'k?

What makes it different?

Fourteen months and the pervasive feeling I am having is not one of sadness, loss, pity, or helplessness. It is anger. Not over my current situation, but what is out there. Or, more specifically, the lack of what is out there. The common thread I hear in most of my online support groups and even from what I see in my community is no continued support. In the beginning, all sorts of people come out of the woodwork. Taking you out, listening to your rants, taking the kids off your hands for a few hours so you have time to breathe. And grieve. Then, little by little, it starts to fade away.

Fewer phone calls.
Fewer visits.
Fewer offers.
More declined invitations.
More pity parties.
More self destructive behavior.

At first, I thought it was me. Then I blamed in on social leprosy. Then I realized that although his death had blown my world apart and stopped my life in its tracks, everyone else's life kept right on trucking. They all still had husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, kids, pets, jobs, school. Other tragedies happened. Time marched on. So I tried to find support in my community. Someone else who might, just might, understand even a fraction of what I was going through. Unfortunately, there are no local groups for widows under the age of 50 who lost their spouse. Even harder to find are groups where spouses die suddenly and not of a horrible lingering disease.

Nothing.
Nada.
Zip.

So here I go, back to trying to deal with this on my own, in my own way. Forging a path to who-knows-where. I don't even know if I'm doing it right. So many questions run through my head daily.

Am I making the right choice to go back to school?
Am I parenting the boys OK?
Am I yelling too much?
Am I yelling not enough?
Am I behaving appropriately to my friends?
Am I drinking too much?
Am I drinking not enough?
Am I too broken to ever find someone who will love me?

I could go crazy if I listened to all of these questions all of the time. Sometimes the questions make it even more real that I don't have anyone to bounce my daily life off of. Someone who really knows me and understands me and wants to hang around me, even when I am intolerable. For those of you that do, don't take it for granted, because not having it?

 Well it just sucks.

A Christmas Love Letter

I know I don't usually do this, but this time of year, I am taking things pretty rough. I've tried to be "strong for the kids", tried to be "over it", tried to embrace the "childlike spirit of Christmas", but damn. This truly bites. Like sucks beyond anything that has come before it. So, to get it all out, I am writing a love letter to my best friend, my lover, my soul mate, my partner in crime, my sweetest love so I can tell him all of the things I didn't get to say. But, like an oscar speech, there first are so many people to thank...
     First, I would like to thank all of my widow(er) friends I have met along this journey. We may have all arrived on this path at different times but we all go through the same things, feel the same feelings, and are there for each other when we feel like no one understands us. This last year for me has been super tough and I don't think I would have been able to make it without the love and support that you have shown me. Chins up, fellow widdas; we will continue to make it through as long as we remember to take baby steps forward for ourselves and hold the memories of our spouses close to our hearts.
     Second, I would like to thank my friends and family for being there for the kids and I as we made it through this incredibly tough year.  You have all watched me as I struggled with the crippling loss of B, and steered me in the correct direction when you saw I lost my way.  You watched and supported as I became a single mom and found out about D's diagnoses and all of the struggles that go along with being the parent of a special needs child.  You encouraged me to not turn back to my old ways following the most devastating loss of my life.  You pushed me to go back to school and fulfill the dream I have to get a college degree. You have listened to me tell stories, you have held me when I cried, and you have come with me to movies and dinners so I didn't have to be alone. Most of all, thank you for just being THERE. Those moments when you just gave me a hug or held my hand and watched my tears fall silently and we didn't speak...no advice given, no words of encouragement spoken. Those were the moments where I knew that the love you had for me and my children was truly the most selfless gift anyone could ever give.
     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 A love letter to my one and only.....

My sweetest love,
     There still are so many words unspoken that I didn't get to say.  There are so many dreams we had that are unfulfilled, so many trips not taken, so many of the children's milestones that we will not get to experience together. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of you or speak of you or wonder what you would think about how my life is turning out.  Just the other day I was telling a new friend about our amazing love story and it reminded me of how truly blessed I was to have you be in my life for 30 of the 35 years I have been on this earth. I told the story of our first kiss at the Allentown Fair. I spoke fondly of the surprise picnic you made for me in the woods. The way through all of high school and college we were on again off again until that amazing night at dinner 12 years  ago when we went to dinner and knew, from that point forward, that we would be together forever. I have explained the story of without wax and sparked jealousy from some of my girlfriends whose husbands aren't nearly that romantic.
     I can only hope that you see my life as I keep going for the boys.  I hope that you are happy with the amazing people that your sons are turning out to be.  They are like you in so very many ways. They both have that same crinkly-eyed smile you had when they are truly happy and being their adorably silly selves. They have such amazingly kind hearts, and are so loving and giving...a trait that I know you helped to foster in them.  They love you and miss you so very much, and talk about you and to you all the time.  I hope you hear them and guide them as they grow into the amazing young men you always wanted them to be.
     I know the last months you were here we struggled. I am so sorry that I never got to fix that struggle for you. Every day I hope that you knew how much I loved you no matter what. How no matter what we were going through I always believed that our love was so strong that we could make it through anything. I truly believe you are my soul mate, B, and in another time, in another place our souls will be reunited an the B-shaped hole that is in my soul now will finally be filled. Our love never knew any boundaries, and I am sure it will overcome this one, no matter how immense the space between us is. You were my rock, my balance. You were the dark to my light, the calm to my crazy, and the quiet to my loud. As I have always said, you saved me from myself, and I am a better person for having loved you. You will have my love always and all ways my sweet, without wax.
   

Cobwebs, Fog, and Apathy

        This grief is an interesting thing.  I have lost people, things, and pets before in my life, but none have affected me to such a degree as the loss of my husband. At this point, a little over a year after B passed away, I thought I would be able to function just a wee bit better. I'm not. Well, I am, but not as "better" as I thought I would be.  Of my bad days, I can usually put them into three categories: cobwebs, fog, and apathy.
      My cobweb days are interesting.  Sometimes a memory will just fly up out out of the blue and get stuck in my head. Usually it is a good one like our wedding day kiss, or a day we spent goofing around with the boys, or a day where we had one of those dates or conversations that reminds of why we loved each other so much to begin with. These cobweb days, I'm like the spider. I turn the memory over and over in my web, spinning more and more silk over it to keep it protected. I visit it from time to time, gleaning what goodness I can to sustain me and keep me going.  These cobweb days are my favorite. Then there are the not so good cobweb days. The ones that are so very much NOT my favorite. The stupid, sucky horrible memories that fly up out of nowhere and get stuck. Getting that phone call. Hearing the doctor say those horrible words. Seeing you there lifeless. Our last fight. On these cobweb days, I am less like the spider and more like the fly. I fight and fight and fight to disentangle myself. The more I fight, the more I get caught. Caught up in the replay, caught up in the horrible feelings that go along with it. I try not to get caught, but, like the fly, sometimes you are just going about your day and WHAM! Stuck. No matter how hard you try, you are just not going to get out of it.
     Foggy days have their own "special" quality.  These I know are coming as soon as I try to get up out of bed in the morning.  I am usually that bouncy, bright-eyed, chipper morning person that everyone loves to hate. Up at 5am regardless of the hour I went to bed, ready to go and coffee and breakfast made for everyone shortly thereafter. I know. Just reading that makes you want to kill me, right? Especially if you haven't had your morning cup of coffee yet. If it is any consolation, on foggy days I am very much NOT like that.  Foggy days start with the complete inability to get out of bed. Usually that half asleep/half awake state when your body can't move and your brain is trying desperately to cling on to the last vestiges of that amazing dream you were just having. Once my feet hit the floor, I know it is going to be a no shower, jeans and a hoodie, 5 cup of coffee kind of day.  There are tears in the corner of my eyes the whole day, and more often than not I will find myself in a room of the house with no recollection of why I went in there.  I go through anything I have to do that day in a daze that resembles that of a zombie.  I am assuming I probably look like that to the outside world, too. Unkempt appearance, slow shuffling walk, incoherent speech...yup. Sounds like definite zombie qualities. Surprised I haven't been taken out already by one of those doomsday preppers. Comforting, sort of. These foggy days are becoming fewer and farther between, but man, when they do hit, they are doozies.
     What more and more of my bad days are becoming is full of apathy. Just going through the  motions. Not sad, not happy, not angry, not anything. I could win the 40 bazillion dollar lottery and  just shrug my shoulders and reply "meh". It's like being a 2D figure in a 3D world.  I look all right from the front, but if you catch me at just the right angle, you can see something is missing. I'll participate in activities, but only if I have to.  I might smile, joke, or even, laugh; but if you watch or listen closely you can tell that they are missing their usual luster.  My cooking is less flavorful, my housework suffers, and the general world seems less colorful. I can't even shop properly on these days. I know, how very commercial of me, but admit it, sometimes shopping makes all of us feel better. Especially shoes. And purses. And clothes. And random gifts for other people. I've been told self-care will help with these apathetic days. Going to the gym, going for a walk, stopping and smelling the roses, etc.  The problem is, on apathetic days, I am disinclined to anything that requires even the tiniest bit of motivation. Then my motivation comes home from school. The bright shining moments on these days are my beautiful boys.  Somehow, some way, they usually find a way to inject a little bit of sun into even the greyest of apathetic days.  The older one getting a good grade on a test or telling me how he stood up to a bully.  The smaller one writing his name without assistance or getting excited about seeing a big construction truck being transported down the highway.  They remind me that even flowers can grow up through the cracks in the sidewalk if they have enough will.

 If a flower can do that, then damn....so can I.

Suck-cember

    I have renamed December Suck-cember. This month is just sooooo harsh on my emotions. His birthday, 13 months, Christmas, my birthday, New Years Eve, and New Years Day. That is way too many potentially problematic days to have to deal with in one month. Alone. I think that is what makes it exponentially worse.

Alone.

    The word just sounds depressing when you say it. Looks depressing when you type it. Feels depressing when you experience it. I was out last night having a cupcake for my cupcake's birthday and a little rhyme kept repeating itself in my head...."couples, couples everywhere and no someone for me".
     Not that being with someone is necessary to be happy, or would make December suck any less, but sometimes it is just nice to have someone to come home to, have a nice cup of hot chocolate with, snuggle and watch the kids play. Nice to have someone to go Christmas shopping with. Nice to have someone wish you a happy birthday. Nice to have someone congratulate you on completing your first semester back at school in 15 years. Nice to have someone to play Santa with. Nice to have someone to kiss at midnight on New Year's Eve.
     Suck-cember is fraught with remembrances, which is why I think it sucks so much. Remembrances for everyone, not just those of us who are grieving. How many times have you reconnected with an ex right around the holidays? How many times has one of your family members brought up specific memories while you are all enjoying dessert after a fun day of togetherness? How many times have you decorated for the holidays, remembering the story that goes behind each and every decoration or ornament? More often than not, these memories bring back warm fuzzy feeling of wistful longing, right? Well, multiply that longing by about a million and you get a sense of where a grieving person probably is this time of year. At least this grieving person.
    So, if you come in contact with me or any other grieving person this year, be gentle. Realize that while you may have moved on from the loss, we haven't.  At least not as much as you think we might have (we are REALLY good at faking it).  We might be a little grouchier than usual, a little more sensitive than usual, and a little more lonely than usual. If we have a significant day (like maybe a birthday, wink wink) try to make it bearable by including us.  If we invite you somewhere, it is not because we are trying to insert ourselves into your schedule, it is because we are trying to fill a really big hole in our heart with someone whose company we enjoy and makes our sad hearts smile for a moment.  Phone calls are awesome, cards are great, a lunch or dinner or even a cup of coffee is an  excellent way to show us that we matter and are an appreciated part of your very busy life. We know Suck-cember will pass, but for some of us, it doesn't pass soon enough.

Holiday season? What holiday season?

    Apparently, the "holiday season" is upon us. Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday. Food, family, football....what's not to love? Then a big chunk of my family went missing. I barely remember last Thanksgiving.  This Thanksgiving, things are a little different. There is no one big gathering. My mom and stepdad are in one place with one uncle and one set of grandparents. My dad and stepmom, sister, and aunt are in another place. My FIL and BIL are hosting dinner at their place for my BIL's girlfriend and her parents. I have friends who have invited me to their gatherings.  Everything feels fractured to me, just like my little family.
     So what do I do? I do what I used to do when I was younger, before I had a whole family of my own. I go everywhere. I put on my happy face and visit with my dad, my in-laws, and my friends. I show my kids that we can have a happy holiday even though we may not all be together. I show them that there are many different kind of families....some that are whole, some that are broken, some that are made up just friends, and that everyone in your life can teach you something. Teach them how to manage to eat a little at everyone's house as to be able to join in all festivities. Watch some football, play some games, and have some laughs.
       Just because there is a big hunk of my soul missing doesn't mean I have to take away part of theirs. I will try my best to keep Thanksgiving as my favorite holiday. I will try not to drink to much and fall to pieces. I will be cheerful and thankful and everything else everyone expects me to be because I am "strong".
****POST THANKSGIVING****
      I made it. It was interesting.....three mini dinners, and nothing quite felt right. It wasn't wrong, but it wasn't right either.  You know how it is when you try on a shoe that looks good on the outside, but pinches your little toe on the inside? That is what Thanksgiving felt like.  I was all helpful and happy on the outside and tears and angry on the inside. I missed B terribly but found comfort in his favorite football team playing on the TV spending part of the day with my in-laws and another part of the day with one of his closest friends. The signs are always there, sometimes I just have to be no so wrapped up in my grief to appreciate them.