I remember
Twelve years ago tonight we had a house full of people.
Twelve years ago tomorrow we married; it was perfect.
In front of our friends, family and God, we declared our commitment to something that started earlier. Everyone who knew us then, knew that we had something special. History, circumstance and background would have never had us together, but fate knew we belonged with each other. We were unconventional. We first fell in love, then met. How wonderful to fall in love with a person first, to love their heart and mind and soul before setting eyes on them. At a time when both of us might have been guarded, we let ourselves trust and love. I knew we would marry before I ever met you. I knew you were my heart. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. That didn’t happen.
But you did spend the rest of your life with me- loving, trusting, supporting. You knew and understood me more than I know or understand myself. You allowed me to be me, and in the process let me know true happiness.
I regret that I came with baggage; that I never was able to leave it all behind, but carried it and let it weigh on my soul. I don’t know how you understood, and saw the love under the scars. All my self doubt, all my insecurities, all my faults, and still I was luck enough to be your wife.
I think what made us so great is that we put us first. It wasn’t about what was best for you or what was best for me - it was about what was best for us as a unit. We both grew as people within the framework of “us”.
Twelve years ago I was so happy, so lucky, so blessed. Twelve years ago I became your wife and you became my husband. It breaks my heart that we cannot celebrate this anniversary. It tears me apart that we cannot grow old together. I don’t know who I am outside of half of us. But I do know, without a doubt, that I am the luckiest .
To have had such an extraordinary love. It is rare. I don’t think many couples get to share the complete trust that we had. I don’t think many couples laugh as much as we laughed. I don’t think many people get to love as deeply as we loved.
Living without you is not easy. I feel like you would be disappointed. As hard as it is, I don’t give up. I give in to the pain, but I keep trying. For this anniversary I want to give myself the gift of peace. I want to accept what has happened. To do that, I think I need to stop trying so hard to live well, and focus on making sure that I die well. I don’t want to suffer a dibilitating disease, or whither away alone in a nursing home. I don’t want a diminished mind in a healthy body, or a diminished body with a strong mind. I don’t know if I will die tomorrow or in 40 years, but I want to focus on having a good death. In doing that, I will have to have more peace in the life I have left. I think that maybe you would be ok with that.
I love you so, and I miss you so much more than I could imagine. You absence is felt every single day. As sad as I am, I know that I am
I am
I am
The Luckiest.
Happy anniversary, Babe. I love you more than an elephant,
In a tutu
In a pink VW bug.
❤️
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Monday, February 12, 2018
On The Day That I Died
It was cold.
The sun shone brightly
The sky was blue with deceit
-an illusion of calm.
We hung our hopes on a low hanging limb,
filled with the promise that Spring would soon bud.
But the limb snapped.
The canopy that shaded us from our fears was destroyed.
The warmth we sought betrayed us.
It beat down searing, scorching,
consuming that which had been beautiful
-giving life to something dark and destructive.
Hope was cruel,
allowing us to believe that fate could be altered.
It was cold.
The sky was blue,
on the day that I died.
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Heart
It swells with love until it risks bursting..
A rush to the brain;
A glow on the cheek;
A warmth between the legs.
It fills the chest
Squeezes out the emptiness
Makes things like "forever" seen real
Until...
The body goes cold.
How much loss can one heart bear?
How can it be put back together?
What happens when the glue chips away
And the cracks spread wide?
There is no limit to love
But the heart is human -
Frail.
How many times can it be broken and repaired
before it can no longer hold onto love
and can only, barely, continue to beat?
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Want
I don’t even know what I want in life. I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to settle. I would like to meet someone, but I don’t want to date. I don’t know if I will ever want to re-marry, but I would love to have a partner again.
Do I want a husband, a lover, a friend with benefits?
I want trust and intimacy of mind and body. I want someone to fuss over, and someone to fuss over me. I want occasions for celebration, a shoulder to cry on, a person to grow with. I want to feel like I matter. I want to feel like I am living again rather than just going through the motions.
Actually, that sounds like I do know what I want. I just don’t know how to have it anymore. I’m scared to try; I’m scared not to try.
I lost my first husband to drugs. I lost my second husband - the love of my life - to cancer. I don’t want to lose more. I don’t want to put my fragile, glued-together heart someplace where someone can crush it by not wanting me. I don’t want my heart to be destroyed by loving another man who I can lose.
I want love, sex, real companionship, support, responsibility, accountability and more. I want a life that is full, shared, and honest. I’m scared to have that and I’m scared that I may never have it again.
Do I want a husband, a lover, a friend with benefits?
I want trust and intimacy of mind and body. I want someone to fuss over, and someone to fuss over me. I want occasions for celebration, a shoulder to cry on, a person to grow with. I want to feel like I matter. I want to feel like I am living again rather than just going through the motions.
Actually, that sounds like I do know what I want. I just don’t know how to have it anymore. I’m scared to try; I’m scared not to try.
I lost my first husband to drugs. I lost my second husband - the love of my life - to cancer. I don’t want to lose more. I don’t want to put my fragile, glued-together heart someplace where someone can crush it by not wanting me. I don’t want my heart to be destroyed by loving another man who I can lose.
I want love, sex, real companionship, support, responsibility, accountability and more. I want a life that is full, shared, and honest. I’m scared to have that and I’m scared that I may never have it again.
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Need Him
Five years ago my Brian had surgery. We thought they were looking for a bowel obstruction. We were prepared for a cancer diagnosis, but not for a stage four - no options - terminal diagnosis.
Five years is a long time. I thought I could get through my day without focusing on five years ago. I didn’t focus on five years ago, but it had me. I fought years from the time I got out of bed. It was a lousy day.
I went to work and was bombarded with requests. That’s my job, and I like to help, but not when I’m given just a hint of the story to figure out what needs to be done. People want things done now, but won’t take the time to clearly state what they need, so they waste my time doing detective work. I miss Brian. Brian knew how to communicate clearly. Brian knew how to say please and thank you. Brian made the people around him feel appreciated and never took them for granted. Is it so wrong to want to feel appreciated at work? Is it so wrong to feel sad on the fifth anniversary of my husband’s death sentence?
My eye has been very painful for three weeks. It makes it really hard to stay cool. It makes me anxious and on edge. Chronic pain exhausts me and I just crave sleep. I had a 1:00 doc appt today. My pain has been bad and unrelenting, so I thought my retinal edema would be bad. It far surpasses my expectations, though it did confirm that my pain and vision problems are real. Sat at the doc four four hours waiting for authorizations. Gave me lots of time to remember the last time my eye scan was so bad. It was Jan 2012 - first time I needed an interoccular injection. I was terrified, but Brian was right there giving me support. Today I was alone, and it was so lonely. The shots aren’t so terrible, but the anxiety before the shot is always bad. I always feel panicky, and I wanted Brian there with me. I was sad, then mad, then depressed to be sitting there alone. I got the inplant, but have never had the itching and burning in my eye after. The one eye was tearing nonstop, and the stinging burning pain lasted two hours.
Five pm - sun is going down, both eyes are dilated, one eye is in post injection pain and waterworks, I’m alone, sad, depressed, frustrated, grieving, I’m pissed off that I’m there alone. Spent four hours trying to get authorization paperwork, but ended up having to pay out $2200 anyway. Then I have to drive home at dusk with seriously compromised vision. I had no business being behind the wheel. He used to take care of me. I needed help, but couldn’t have it. I’m so sad, I’m so lonely. I need help. This condition is very painful. We don’t know what causes it. We can treat the symptoms but it is thousands of dollars every two months and treatment is invasive. It is painful, but others with similar symptoms don’t have the dibilitating pain I do. We inject implants in my eye and we flood my body with biological medication. It costs over $3000 each treatment and it is invasive, and I don’t know if it is right or worth it. I need my partner to help me figure it out. I need my partner to lean on in my pain. Today I didn’t have him, but I did have haunting memories of being told that he would soon die. I remember having to tell him that he was dying. I remember how we both tried to be strong for the other.
I’m alone. I miss him. I’m in pain. I need his strength and support. It is so hard - this life alone.
Five years is a long time. I thought I could get through my day without focusing on five years ago. I didn’t focus on five years ago, but it had me. I fought years from the time I got out of bed. It was a lousy day.
I went to work and was bombarded with requests. That’s my job, and I like to help, but not when I’m given just a hint of the story to figure out what needs to be done. People want things done now, but won’t take the time to clearly state what they need, so they waste my time doing detective work. I miss Brian. Brian knew how to communicate clearly. Brian knew how to say please and thank you. Brian made the people around him feel appreciated and never took them for granted. Is it so wrong to want to feel appreciated at work? Is it so wrong to feel sad on the fifth anniversary of my husband’s death sentence?
My eye has been very painful for three weeks. It makes it really hard to stay cool. It makes me anxious and on edge. Chronic pain exhausts me and I just crave sleep. I had a 1:00 doc appt today. My pain has been bad and unrelenting, so I thought my retinal edema would be bad. It far surpasses my expectations, though it did confirm that my pain and vision problems are real. Sat at the doc four four hours waiting for authorizations. Gave me lots of time to remember the last time my eye scan was so bad. It was Jan 2012 - first time I needed an interoccular injection. I was terrified, but Brian was right there giving me support. Today I was alone, and it was so lonely. The shots aren’t so terrible, but the anxiety before the shot is always bad. I always feel panicky, and I wanted Brian there with me. I was sad, then mad, then depressed to be sitting there alone. I got the inplant, but have never had the itching and burning in my eye after. The one eye was tearing nonstop, and the stinging burning pain lasted two hours.
Five pm - sun is going down, both eyes are dilated, one eye is in post injection pain and waterworks, I’m alone, sad, depressed, frustrated, grieving, I’m pissed off that I’m there alone. Spent four hours trying to get authorization paperwork, but ended up having to pay out $2200 anyway. Then I have to drive home at dusk with seriously compromised vision. I had no business being behind the wheel. He used to take care of me. I needed help, but couldn’t have it. I’m so sad, I’m so lonely. I need help. This condition is very painful. We don’t know what causes it. We can treat the symptoms but it is thousands of dollars every two months and treatment is invasive. It is painful, but others with similar symptoms don’t have the dibilitating pain I do. We inject implants in my eye and we flood my body with biological medication. It costs over $3000 each treatment and it is invasive, and I don’t know if it is right or worth it. I need my partner to help me figure it out. I need my partner to lean on in my pain. Today I didn’t have him, but I did have haunting memories of being told that he would soon die. I remember having to tell him that he was dying. I remember how we both tried to be strong for the other.
I’m alone. I miss him. I’m in pain. I need his strength and support. It is so hard - this life alone.
Monday, January 1, 2018
Mothering Grief
Yesterday I posted this to a widow’s group in Facebook:
“Five years ago today, Brian and I spent in the ER. We thought they would admit him and schedule surgery to remove his pancreas. CAT scan showed a healthy pancreas.
Five years ago today, Brian and I learned the word ascites. The doctors didn’t tell us they suspected cancer, but that’s when we both started to think it was likely. He wasn’t diagnosed with cancer until Jan 8, but I suspect all his doctors knew it was cancer. We were ready for the cancer diagnosis, but not for “terminal”, “stage 4”, and “no treatment”.
It would be so easy to allow myself to fall into despair, but that would disappoint him. He has been gone for almost five years, and I have to stop nurturing my grief. Nobody around me understands that this deep pain will never go away, and I will forever miss him and our life together, but I know that I can continue to live. Life isn’t as rich, and it isn’t as fun, but it is a gift that I have and that he was denied.
I recently shared the attached poem that has been so meaningful to me. At one, two and maybe even three years out, this poem would have pissed me off. Now, approaching five years, the poem speaks to me. I can hear his voice in it. I carry my grief with me, but I must stop nurturing it. I must stop allowing it to dominate my life. I most focus on life, and let my grief fend for itself. It isn’t easy, but time is making me feel like it is possible.
Five years ago today we were scared and clinging to a hope that failed us. Today, I have survived the worst of what life could deal me. Today I no longer fear loss because I have lost what was most important. Today I think maybe I can stop carrying me grief, and let it follow me on its own.
Wishing us all strength for 2018.”
Here is the poem:
http://lodestarquarterly.com/work/397/
It is hard to separate the grief of life from the grief of death, but this is where I am. I can no longer blame my grief on Brian’s death. It is time to own it. I hope I can do so in 2018.
“Five years ago today, Brian and I spent in the ER. We thought they would admit him and schedule surgery to remove his pancreas. CAT scan showed a healthy pancreas.
Five years ago today, Brian and I learned the word ascites. The doctors didn’t tell us they suspected cancer, but that’s when we both started to think it was likely. He wasn’t diagnosed with cancer until Jan 8, but I suspect all his doctors knew it was cancer. We were ready for the cancer diagnosis, but not for “terminal”, “stage 4”, and “no treatment”.
It would be so easy to allow myself to fall into despair, but that would disappoint him. He has been gone for almost five years, and I have to stop nurturing my grief. Nobody around me understands that this deep pain will never go away, and I will forever miss him and our life together, but I know that I can continue to live. Life isn’t as rich, and it isn’t as fun, but it is a gift that I have and that he was denied.
I recently shared the attached poem that has been so meaningful to me. At one, two and maybe even three years out, this poem would have pissed me off. Now, approaching five years, the poem speaks to me. I can hear his voice in it. I carry my grief with me, but I must stop nurturing it. I must stop allowing it to dominate my life. I most focus on life, and let my grief fend for itself. It isn’t easy, but time is making me feel like it is possible.
Five years ago today we were scared and clinging to a hope that failed us. Today, I have survived the worst of what life could deal me. Today I no longer fear loss because I have lost what was most important. Today I think maybe I can stop carrying me grief, and let it follow me on its own.
Wishing us all strength for 2018.”
Here is the poem:
http://lodestarquarterly.com/work/397/
It is hard to separate the grief of life from the grief of death, but this is where I am. I can no longer blame my grief on Brian’s death. It is time to own it. I hope I can do so in 2018.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Let's not be Graceful in our Grief
Recently there were ads on the radio for a weekend seminar offered by the Sisters of Something or Other. It was called "Graceful Grieving". I held off on commenting because since Brian died I seem to be the Lady of Perpetual Anger, and I wanted to think about why this seminar upset me so much.
I think it is a huge disservice to try and instruct people to grieve gracefully. In fact, I think we need to do the opposite. Grief is raw, and messy, and anything but graceful. To grieve gracefully is to stifle your feelings for the comfort of others. Why should anybody do that?
Why should a mourner smile politely and hide the tears for private moments. Why should a mourner say "thank you" and offer a sweet if phony smile when someone says "he's in a better place", or "God had a plan", or "this will make you stronger"? Grief is hot, wet, and smelly. Grief is loud and grating. Grief is primal screams, and collapsing to the floor. It is forgetting to shower and brush teeth. Grief is tears, snot, vomit and diarrhea. Grief is private pain, but public spectacle.
How offensive that anyone would instruct anyone else on how to mourn gracefully?
When Brian was dying, I tried to shield him from my grief. I couldn't understand what it must have felt like for him to be dying, and I didn't want to burden him with my pain - a pain that he couldn't make go away. I'm sure I failed miserably. I cried when he slept. I left his room when I had to collapse to floor. I stifled my screams. I tried to shower, dress, and eat. I tried to show him that I would be okay. He knew that I wouldn't be ok for a long time.
Then he died, and nothing was ok. I showered and dressed in a suit and went to his memorial. I stood and received "guests" after the service. I sent thank you notes. I told people that I was "fine". I listened to everyone tell me that I was strong.
No.
I wasn't strong. I'm not strong. I continue to breath because that is what you do. Because you live, and you learn to live in agonizing pain. You learn to hide it until private moments, but it never goes away. It becomes easier to live with, but the pain and loss are always there. Every sad occasion that you can't share; every happy accomplishment that you don't celebrate; every holiday that you attend alone; everything new that happens in a world without them hurts - but we are expected to be graceful and grateful.
I am so grateful for the time I had with Brian, but I don't want to be graceful. I wish I could go back a few years and allow myself to fully experience the pain. I wish I could scream in public, tear my clothes, rant at God, curse at others' happiness. I wish I could be ugly, loud and offensive. I wish I could be honest with the force of my pain, because maybe then it wouldn't be so hard now. Maybe had I been allowed to be weak, ugly and selfish then, I wouldn't have to feel so alone in my pain now.
I think it is a huge disservice to try and instruct people to grieve gracefully. In fact, I think we need to do the opposite. Grief is raw, and messy, and anything but graceful. To grieve gracefully is to stifle your feelings for the comfort of others. Why should anybody do that?
Why should a mourner smile politely and hide the tears for private moments. Why should a mourner say "thank you" and offer a sweet if phony smile when someone says "he's in a better place", or "God had a plan", or "this will make you stronger"? Grief is hot, wet, and smelly. Grief is loud and grating. Grief is primal screams, and collapsing to the floor. It is forgetting to shower and brush teeth. Grief is tears, snot, vomit and diarrhea. Grief is private pain, but public spectacle.
How offensive that anyone would instruct anyone else on how to mourn gracefully?
When Brian was dying, I tried to shield him from my grief. I couldn't understand what it must have felt like for him to be dying, and I didn't want to burden him with my pain - a pain that he couldn't make go away. I'm sure I failed miserably. I cried when he slept. I left his room when I had to collapse to floor. I stifled my screams. I tried to shower, dress, and eat. I tried to show him that I would be okay. He knew that I wouldn't be ok for a long time.
Then he died, and nothing was ok. I showered and dressed in a suit and went to his memorial. I stood and received "guests" after the service. I sent thank you notes. I told people that I was "fine". I listened to everyone tell me that I was strong.
No.
I wasn't strong. I'm not strong. I continue to breath because that is what you do. Because you live, and you learn to live in agonizing pain. You learn to hide it until private moments, but it never goes away. It becomes easier to live with, but the pain and loss are always there. Every sad occasion that you can't share; every happy accomplishment that you don't celebrate; every holiday that you attend alone; everything new that happens in a world without them hurts - but we are expected to be graceful and grateful.
I am so grateful for the time I had with Brian, but I don't want to be graceful. I wish I could go back a few years and allow myself to fully experience the pain. I wish I could scream in public, tear my clothes, rant at God, curse at others' happiness. I wish I could be ugly, loud and offensive. I wish I could be honest with the force of my pain, because maybe then it wouldn't be so hard now. Maybe had I been allowed to be weak, ugly and selfish then, I wouldn't have to feel so alone in my pain now.
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