Breathing

Sometimes I have to just focus on breathing.

I cannot think of tomorrow,
I cannot think of tonight.

Just the here
and
now
and my breathing.

The pain is always consuming; there is no escape.
I look okay on the outside, but I am not on the inside.

Breathe.

The pain of seeing your loved one in a coffin, the pain of touching his cold body.

Breathe.

People say, how do you do it--
I don't do "it".
My stupid broken heart won't stop beating.

Breathe.

It's nothing heroic or strong, I just don't have a choice.
Just like the sun on my arm, it can shine and heat, but it doesn't choose who to shine on or who to heat.
It just is.  So, am I.

Quote

Life is much bigger than just a body.  When you are grieving over the loss of a loved one, sense the presence of their soul, which is always with you, instead of the personality that is gone. 

—Oprah Winfrey

Quote

"And I have chosen to get out of bed each morning despite believing that the last morning that mattered had already happened."

Sometimes I cannot say what has already been said, any better!  Sometimes I cannot relate what I feel, any better than what someone else has already stated.  

Source:
Jackie Friday, October 22, 2010
http://widowsvoice-sslf.blogspot.com/2010/10/brand-name.html#comments

Pictures

I have been sorting and arranging pictures.  This is NOT easy when every time you are around pictures they bring up happy memories and you are reminded, those days and times are gone. 
Grief is depressing, lonely, and tough.
I miss the reminiscing
I miss making the memories
I miss the analytical conversations
I miss the spiritual conversations
I miss the verbal encouragement
I miss the silent encouragement
I miss every single part of the wonderful man that he was
I miss laughing with him
I miss feeling safe
I miss knowing I'm safe
I miss the companionship

It is so scary that a beautiful life can be extinguished in such a reckless moment.  It is so scary how devastating and destructive death can be upon the living.  I guess it will either make you or break you, but either way, you are never the same after you have been stung by the sting of death.

Tender Friend

A couple of weeks ago, I worked with a lady at the library.  While helping her I came to know she was 13 months widow.  With tears in her eyes she confided, no one ever tells you how difficult this is. 

Nope, they don't.

Because there are no words that convey the feelings, loneliness, and pain that consumes you.

Because who really wants to hear such negativity and grief?

Because "they" may just be looking into "their" future, and that is scary.

That is why I add these posts to my blog.  I do not ever want anyone who knows me to think it was easy for me.  It is not.

I don't blog for the pity or for the sympathy, I blog to let it out and let it go.  I blog because there are not very many people in my age group who understand.  I blog to someday somehow help someone else.
 
I saw this dear lady at the Library this past Saturday, my dear sweet friend, who is just as sad and lonely as I am in this crowded noisy world.

It’s hard to drive forward, looking in the rear view mirror

Widowhood is difficult because you are trying to move forward with life and the rest of the world, but your thoughts, dreams, memories and heart all remain in the yesterday. 

One difficult aspect of moving forward is all of the tugs physically and emotionally pulling me backwards.  Every day I wake up and the calendar and time meanders forward, and the world moves onward.  Everything around me moves with the current of progression, but I am like the sand bar in the middle of a fast moving river.  I watch everyone and everything rush past me…going forward…living…growing…but I am stuck…I am the ridge in the middle of the river, holding still…catching debris…listening to the rush and watching the bustle…I am stuck…held back…immobile…

As I have tried to take steps to move forward, I feel him near me; I feel him surround me and be with me and I am reminded of the past days and past memories of him.  I am reminded he is not part of today or tomorrow.  I am pulled backwards into yesterday and of being with him.

As I have tried to flow forward with the river, my dreams are taken over by his presence, actions, voice and touch; I awake and am reminded of the past, feelings, hopes, and dreams.  I am left with the sweetness of being with him, but the void of his true presence in the here and now.

A song on the radio will shock me back to yesterday in a split second.  A flash of a memory will hijack me to the past.  Anniversaries, holidays and birthdays all transport me to what was. 

It’s difficult to live forward when I keep getting pushed backwards into yesterday.  It is like walking against a strong head wind every.single.day…it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that it is impossible too.

Calculations

While I was getting my nails done, I glanced up at the clock.  I mentally calculate; I could be outta here by 12:15 and at the library by 12:30.  Good then I can research until 4:30; 4 hours research.  Then I see Oct. 5.  I automatically calculate again: I have 20 days to get Joe an anniversary gift. 

Maybe it was all the nail polish fumes.

Maybe it was the relaxing pedicure.

Maybe it was just for one brief minute I forgot.

My eyes saw the date "Oct 5" and my mind calculated.

Seriously!

How can one spend EVERY-SINGLE-DAY-AND-NIGHT for the past almost 8 years grieving and in one single unsuspecting second forget!?!?!

My calculations slap me in the face. . .

Suddenly I cannot run and hide anymore. . .

The lump in my throat is because it is October. . .
Then
it
will
be
November!

As I sat in church yesterday, I wanted to bolt...now there is an "old-familiar-never-want-to-experience-again" feeling! 
Yep, it's that time of the year!

Three recent deaths and a funeral; and here I thought I was doing alright--until that darn clock!

Welcome crisp weather, beautiful leaves, and tears!

Every Widow Needs a Joan

A friend morning, noon, and night
Whose happy and uplifting
Warm and welcoming.

A friend who is living life and drags you kicking and screaming back amongest the living.
A friend whose shoulder you can cry on, and who will cry with you.
A friend who will laugh with you as well as at you!

Some one who will fix you dinner so you get a little nutrition every once in awhile,
And who invites you to do everything no matter how many declines you give her!

A friend who knocks on your door or calls in the mornings, so you can keep your mornings and nights straight!
A friend from the beginning to the end. . .
A friend who can stomach the ugliness and still be sweet. . .

A good friend, through thick, thin and,
Through the ugly and the repulsive side of grief!

Normal?

Sunday I traveled with the Nieman family down to EC to visit the cemetery.  It was a beautiful day with a beautiful family, but regardless it was soooooo painful.

I glanced around the cemetery as three if the children were running around with butterfly nets,while the baby was climbing over the headstone.  The adults were washing and cleaning up the headstone.  I stop and look around and in my mind I scream, How did I get here?  How can life be so fragile and short? How can I live without him.  How does this trip to visit Papa 's grave become a family event?  Everyone poses for pictures around the grave.  How and why?

When I hear little one-year-old Bella Button jabber and say the name Papa as she looks at something no one else can see, and I realize it IS all real and all because we love and miss this beautiful and wonderful man.

It's the little things. . .

When someone dies, you grasp and grab and hang onto everything "theirs."  You save their clothes, their notes and handwriting.  You save voice mails and messages.  You save everything you can, just to remind everyone in this world; he was alive, he was here, he mattered.

As memories begin to fade and time ticks forward, you hang onto everything "them."

"Effects of. . .", it's never an envelope you want to get,  but you know you grasp and grab and hang onto everything "theirs."

Right around the corner is here...

a couple of months early!
Yep, it is that time of the year, the grief shrouded days of September, October, November and December.   September begins with Joe's birthday, our anniversary in October, his death anniversary in November, followed by Thanksgiving and Christmas (just holiday reminders of being alone)!

It seemed to start a little earlier this year, like in July, around my birthday.  The thoughts began with turning the big 50…

then they went down the road of Joe will never be older than 43 and he’ll never know 50…

then the thoughts turned to what have I done with the “extra” 8 years Joe never got?...

Have I used those years wisely?. . .

Then the thoughts focused on what he has missed in the 8 years:  the birth of 6 grandchildren, the marriage of his son, the baptism of our two oldest grandsons, the sunsets and sunrises, the laughter and joy of life…

and he was missing in our family pictures!

In August during Farrah’s and Athena’s birthdays I especially missed recounting their births and the beautiful women they have grown into.  He would be so proud of them.

So as Joe’s birthday approaches in September, I’m already beginning from a lower step on the grief staircase…Let’s just hope deathaversary #8 will be easier, heaven only knows I’m stronger!

You're SOOOOOO Strong

Yesterday I was told twice by two separate people that I was strong.  Hummmmmmm, I'm not so sure about that, but while contemplating the thought, I had a few other thoughts...

I have no choice, what are my options?
a.  my heart stops beating because it is broken?
b.  A magic fairy waves her magic want and Joe is alive again.
c.  None of the above

Guess what, news flash we don't get to choose, there is not magic fairy, so it's c-NONE OF THE ABOVE!

People don't see me on the days I cannot crawl out of bed, get dressed or quit crying.  But maybe that IS being strong--being gentle enough to allow those days and kind enough to the world that I don't show it.

One of the reasons I want to share this grief journey is I want everyone to know that this is NOT easy.  I NEVER want anyone to say, "But Janet made it look easy."  Nope, it's not.

There is a healing and maturity in honesty--not dwelling and not self pity.  

The Grim Reaper

is widowhood.

It robs you of who you are,

what you want to be,

your dreams,

your memories,

sleep,

comfort,

safety,

security,

stability,

love,

peace.

It robs you of 

innocence,

hope,

control,

optimism,

organization,

patience,

and

true love.

It steals

who you are,

how you see,

how you feel,

the real you is barely surviving 

your harsh reality.

Grief steals your

days,

hours,

months,

and years 

with tears,

avoidance,

depression, 

and sleep.

Death does not just snuff out one life,

it snuffs out two.

Myth Busters

 (This is not pretty, if you cannot handle it--look away!)

Widowhood jades your perspective.  Some of those common beliefs, well meaning people tell you to try and make you feel better, take on a different perspective when you lose your spouse.  These are just a few examples.  And, yep, I have said these to others before, but since Joe died, these philosophies take on a different meaning!

• "Pick up the pieces and put your life together."  It is really difficult to try and pick up the pieces when the majority of pieces are missing!

• "This life is such a short time in the eternal perspective." Try slamming your finger in the car door and leave it--while your finger is killing you, remember this life is just a split second compared to eternity!  Does the pain in you finger feel better?  What about now, feeling any better?

• "What doesn't kill us will make us stronger."  Nope losing my loved one should have killed me, but it didn't because my stupid strong heart won't quit beating.  Not my fault.  Not that strong, just a young heart. No heart head connection!

• "God doesn't give us more than we can handle."  Nope, God doesn't, but life will,  and when it does, God sends angles to help us.  (Thank you to all my angles. I love you.)

• "(Insert deceased spouse's name here) wouldn't want you to waste away and be this sad."  REALLY, then maybe I should die and he can see if he'll do better.  I'm willing to let him or anyone else give it a try. 

• "How are you doing?"  I used to say, "Some days are bad and the rest are worse."  Seriously, how do you honestly answer that question?  I don't know, but this "polite greeting" rolls off ones tongue before they can think...even I have said this since widowhood to other widows!

• "You shouldn't be alone."  Remarry, date, etc.  Sure that will make all the grief go away.  I'm older now, I know there is NO prince charming to make it all better, but rather how about entering into a new relationship with all the "new relationship dynamics" and add grief to the mix!  That makes sense.  I can imagine a "boyfriend" being okay with tears for the deceased husband!  Not!

I look at things differently since widowhood.  I view the world through different eyes.  I know death and dying, I know pain and sadness, loneliness and grief.  Don't try and make it better, you can't, no one and nothing can make it better.  Just allow me and others the pain and love of missing them.

Sometimes the only way to reach the end is through.  This is just me verbally going "through" the grief...And hopefully somewhere along the way it helps someone else.

Update to Procrastination Post

Last night I went to bed a mess, and it was over 100' yesterday, so I guess that made me a hot mess!  Today my eyes are red and burning from allergies and all that dust in the old boxes and from crying.

I was in such an avoidance mode yesterday, because no good could have possibly come from going through those boxes and trying to make copies of everything--maybe I should just back off and if a catastrophe is going to happen let it happen--let it burn; or flood; or get stolen; or get bugs or whatever can ruin your stuff.  At least then all my emotions will be boxed up and safely stored in the corner where they cannot pain me to my core and stab my heart.

Here's what I found pictures, our high school love letters, wedding album, funeral book, funeral programs, sympathy cards and letters, and two memory boxes.

When I find that kind of stuff I am like the dumb-lady-in-the-scary-movie who hears  a noise and gets out of bed to find out what it is.  No good can come from it especially when that particular music begins to play.  But, just like the dumb-lady-in-the-scary-movie, I have to open that box, look at that letter, or touch that photograph, while every fiber of my being yells, NO.

Since I don't have enough time today to finish, I guess all those boxes get hauled upstairs, and maybe I'll just let the children go through them after my death like all "good" parents do! Then, as they are all sitting around going through these boxes they can repeatedly say, "why did she keep all this crap?"

So here are few choice pictures to keep you in stitches,

 after such a sobering post:

Yep, we were a hot couple back in the day!

It's coming...

In October I decided to grow out my hair including the grey.  That was not the smartest time-period to make a decision-- hiding under the covers during the two week period of your anniversary and your husband's deathaversary! (There were other life altering decisions I made that week, but none so noticeable!)

So almost 10 months later I look like a calico cat!  There's the dark brown that my hair was originally colored.  Then there is the blonde that the hairdresser told me "would help grow out the grey."  Next there is the original brown color of my hair and finally there is the ultimate grey!  Yep calico!

The reason I'm growing out my hair is I that I like life on my own terms.  Because of the various autoimmune stuff going on, I have scalp problems every now and then, and I'm afraid that one of these days I won't have the ability to make the decision.  So, I thought I would make the choice while I was still able to make it.

One comment I get is, "why are you letting it go grey, you're not that old." 
Yep I am. 
If I can naturally grow grey, then I am that old. 

I have decided that in order to go grey you have to be pretty secure with who you are and where you stand in society.  You have to withstand all of the comments and stares.  Widowhood is the same, you have to withstand all the comments and the stares.  Going grey you have to withstand society's view of "old" and "grey" and "mature" and it is even more intimidating when you are already a widow which also conjures up those same descriptions. Double whammy!

The next response from the crowd is, "I want to go white, you know that really pretty white."  My response is how do you think you get to white--G-R-E-Y!

You  can chose to color or not to color, but you cannot chose between grey and white!  Seriously, if that were the case then all the "salt & peppers" and "dingy grey's" would also be white!

With my approaching birthday I feel old enough to match the grey and the number.  It is funny how widowhood will age you---the wrinkles, stress, anxiety, loneliness, tears, carrying a hankie and regular visits to the cemetery do not add to one's youth!

Joe will always be 43 years old, I have aged and another one is coming and it's a biggie.


But what's a girl to do???
Go grey!!!!
Yay!!!!

Enough ranting about the big birthday and the hair color decision.  It is too late now to turn back on either!

There I stood.
His arms wrapped around me like they used to be...
I close my eyes,
Oh, how I have longed to be in his arms again.
I bury my head in his chest, the safest place on earth...
He kisses the top of my head...I have missed this so much.
Then he says let's go...
I am so happy I follow...

Then I wake up!

What a crummy way to start the day...
No matter what I make up in my head to make my life okay without him, my dreams tell the truth and they torture me with the sadness of his death...

How does a widow look forward, when her dreams keeps reminding her of her past?

The stages of grief never end, and neither do the dreams...

Healing

A week ago I went to the Manti temple for a sealing and a temple session.  On the way to church a few days later I realized how I was able to stay composed and keep the tears at bay.  A few tears leaked out here and there at "appropriate" times during the ceremony, and I did have a good cry,  but it was controlled and planned. 

Hummmm I thought, "grief maturity"?  The ability to control those emotions.  Maturity and self-discipline of the grieving widow?

"Grief maturity" is when you can keep it together in what are tender places in doing things that remind you of your sweet deceased husband?

Opposite is "grief immaturity"  where you are just a bawling idiot that cannot control the tears, the sobs or calm down the emotion. 

Suddenly I realized, nope, it is not "grief maturity" it is HEALING.

Finally!

Recognition

Last week I helped a patron at the Library.  She was slow and lacked attention when I asked her questions.  I realized I didn't have to rush anywhere else, so I took my time to help her.  I slowed down the pace.  I didn't believe she had dementia or a disability.

I just couldn't put my finger on it. . .

Something definitely was wrong, but it wasn't until she made an off-hand comment on the way to the printer I realized I recognized the characteristics. . .

G - r - i - e - f
Her husband had passed away and she was trying to find something in life to give her meaning.  I recognized the "grief funk" which is thicker and sadder than "grief fog".

I felt so bad for her, she was almost a year.  I remember that dark, lonely, sad, isolated and painful place. 

I hoped my words and hug helped her along her journey. 

Later, I cried for her because I knew her journey and her pain.  And then I cried because I realized I had healed.  Yep, that place of "grief funk"  and even "grief fog" is a memory and no longer a residence!

The shoe

A pair of shoes is useful.  

A comfortable pair of shoes keeps your feet dry, protects from the rocks and thorns, and supports your body as you move through life.

A single shoe is useless and out of place.  You cannot adjust or adapt to a single shoe. You cannot hop through life on one foot, just because you have lost a shoe. 

                                       
I feel like the single shoe.  I miss the pair I used to be.  I cannot function as the best me without the other shoe.

I worked very hard for 24 years to be part of a pair, now I feel like the cast off missing its mate--in good condition, but impractical without a mate. I’m hopping through life trying to make being “one” and “single” work, but it is lonely and I just don’t fit in. 

No one walks into the closet and reminds me I'm not part of a pair, but I see and live it every single day.  I sit by myself, I eat by myself, I drive by myself, I watch television by myself, and I sleep by myself. 

I feel like half of me is missing; I feel out of sorts in a world of two footed people, I'm a single shoe, trying to be useful and fit in, but seriously, how comfortable can one be as a single shoe?