Symbolism

Tomorrow is our 8th wedding anniversary.  Brian and I spent our 7th anniversary in hospice house.  Not what we would have ever planned, but he was alive, and we were together.  Now he's gone, and I am left to remember all the joy and beauty of our wedding day and our marriage without him.

I will not allow our anniversary to become a sad day.  I want it to be the joyful day that Brian and I celebrated each year.

Brian and I enjoyed exchanging traditional anniversary gifts each year.  It often involved some special creativity, and the shopping and planning was so fun for both of us.
The 8th anniversary is the bronze anniversary, and I felt like I couldn't enjoy a day of remembering and celebrating our marriage without buying him his bronze gift.  When I started shopping, it seemed crazy to buy a gift for him that he could never open.  So I thought I would buy a gift for our home that would have been meaningful to both of us.  There are lots of bronze statuettes of lovers available, but that seemed forced at best.  So I decided to buy a gift for me, and I found the perfect gift that has real symbolism to me and that would have been meaningful to him as well.

The tree of life has always been a meaningful icon for me.  Since Brian died, it has become even more meaningful.  So much so, that there will be a Tree of Life image on his gravestone.

These Tree of Life earrings are bronze, and I love them.  What makes them perfect though, are all the reasons why Brian would have loved them.  The bronze that they are made from is recycled from disarmed nuclear warheads, and the company that makes them donates 20% of profits to peacekeeping charities, including Brian's favorite, Doctors Without Borders.

Brian isn't here to buy these for me, but he would so appreciate all the meaning and symbolism that they embody.  When I wear them I will think of Brian, the love we shared, and the values and ideals that were so important to both of us.

I can't wait to wear them tomorrow.

life

Life is unfair, and cruel, and an incredibly beautiful adventure.

Missing him

What does it mean to miss someone?  I miss him all the time and in so many ways.  I miss being his wife.  I miss seeing the twinkle in his eyes each time he glanced my way.  I miss his undying belief in me.  I miss buying him little gifts.  I miss the peach fuzz on his shaved head, his smell, his amazing laugh.  I miss his arms around me.  I miss kissing him.  I miss everything.

I still get excited when I see something new that he would have liked, or hear a great story that would have made him laugh, and I want to hurry home and tell him about it.  That is always followed by the horrible realization that I can no longer share those things with him.

Sometimes in the middle of the night I wake and hear my dog breathing as she sleeps soundly in my bed, and I smile thinking that he is lying here beside me, safe and dreaming something wonderful.  This is followed by the searing pain of remembering that he will never again lay with me in our bed.

Yesterday I got some upsettling news at a doctor appointment, and I turned to look for him because I knew that his reassurance would make it OK.  And when he wasn't there, and I knew that he wouldn't be there for any of the follow-up or treatments, I had to fight back the tears.

I never took Brian for granted.  I fell in love with him before we ever met in person.  He was my hero.  He helped me survive a horrific time in my life, and then transported me into a world of true love and beauty.  He saw me with no filters, and loved me for who I am.  He helped me to believe in myself.  He created an environment in our home that was safe.  He said that I brought laughter, silliness, and joy into his life.  He brought trust, honesty, and undying support into mine. We were amazing together.  Without him, I'm so much less than amazing.

I know what Brian wanted for me.  He wanted me to he happy.  To surround myself with friends and love.  He told me to listen to music.  To laugh, to dance, to sing. He wanted me to live without fear - to embrace each new day and each new opportunity.

I'm trying.  I'm trying so very hard.  And I'm doing so much better than even one month ago, but it is so difficult.  I turn within to draw strength from his love, but when I look out and he is not there, I am overcome with doubt and dispair.

I miss everything about him and the life we shared.  We were so very blessed to have found each other and to have, against all odds, lived a perfect love together.

10 months

Tomorrow morning will mark 10 months since Brian has been gone.  Ten months since the most painful moments in my life.  Ten months since he stopped breathing in my arms.

These anniversaries can be cruel.  They surprise us with their intensity and viscerate us with their sharp edges.  Memories come without invitations, and pain sneaks up on us without warning.  I can't predict what I'll feel tomorrow or how I will react.  I will try to protect myself though.

I will try to look at the day not as an anniversary of the horror of Brian's death, but as a marker of my own strength and growth.  I think Brian would approve of that.

He wanted me to live.  He wanted me to be happy.  He wanted me to face life without fear.  While I never saw it or recognized it, Brian always saw me as a strong person.  So tomorrow I will try to be the person that Brian loved.  I will try to focus on another step away from pain and grief and back towards life.  And if it is all too much, and I fail, I'll have each new day to try again.

Love after love

There are times when I feel like I have experienced more than my fair share of grief, and there are times when I feel sorry for myself. Despite that, I have the most amazing friends who shower me with so much love, and I lived a nine year love story that most people could not even imagine. Even on my darkest days, I know how lucky I am to have so much love in my life right now. Life isn't fair, and sometimes it kicks you when you are down, but I am so fortunate in so many ways. 

Thank you to all my friends and loved ones who touch my heart in so many amazing ways. I love you guys.

Hospice

A year ago this evening Brian and I moved from the hospital to hospice house. So many painful memories of that day are still incredibly raw. The transition for me was awful. While the staff at hospice is and was amazing, they were not used to or prepared for Brian's medical and wound care needs. I was angry, I was scared, I was heartbroken, and hospice was the last place I wanted to be.

Brian thrived there though. It was the right move. Doctors predicted he wouldn't live for more than a week or so. I thought I would lose him before our 7th anniversary. But he lived for a week. And then another. And with the comfortable environment and amazing care provided by some amazing people, he regained strength and he lived for over two months.

I have mixed feelings about hospice. There were people there who I love, and will always love, but we were there because Brian needed a place to die. Nothing about that was or is okay with me.

Today I went back to hospice house to visit a friend. And it is not OK with me that she has to be there. But it is great that she is comfortable, and has pain management, and has compassionate care. And it is good that her family has that environment. Visiting them today reminded me that no matter how hard the stay at hospice was for me, it was without a doubt the best move for Brian. Because he moved to hospice and regained strength I had him with me for longer. And despite where we were, we got to laugh together, and talk, and cry, and be. 

There was no patient in "our room" today, and I went there, and sat, and remembered, and cried. And while it was a painful day, it wasn't a cry of despair, but one of healing. I can't help but believe that Brian would be proud. That he would be glad that maybe I could redirect my pain towards possibly helping others who are now in that raw and unbearable place where I was last year.

I don't think I will ever recover from Brian's death. I know that I will never stop missing him. But today, I took care of myself and showed myself some kindness, and in doing that, I'm honoring him and his ideals. I miss you, Baby.

Changes

Loss doesn't "get better".  You don't heal from grief, but as time goes on you process it in a different light.  Brian's death is no longer a shock.  It isn't as raw as it once was, but it is painful in a different way.

My happiness, my future, my dreams were so tied up in him - now that he is gone, life feels bleak and meaningless.  I can't find anything to look forward to.  It is hard to find joy or satisfaction in things.  I don't know how to plan for the future, because I can't even imagine a future without him.

The pain of his death isn't as bad as it once was, but the reality of my life now without him, is unbearably painful.  I "do".  I get through the days.  I go to work, I take care of my pets - I get by, but it isn't enough.  I would like to live a purposeful life, but I can't find meaning anymore. 

Loneliness sucks meaning from life.  I don't know how to look forward to a future that is still incomprehensible and frightening.