Life After Death: Blow Me.

 

29 Birth Days...24 Birth Days celebrated together. 

One of Marc's favorite jokes on his birthday....a cake with a candle captioned with "Blow me". Remembering his humor and how he could turn ANY and EVERY  thing into a dirty joke still makes me shake my head and laugh out loud. 

The birth days are a painful reminder of the death day. Yes, I understand that many of you will find that statement to be morbid or perhaps even twisted sounding. So, feel any way you like about it, does not change the truth of what I have said. Our society is one that celebrates the day of our birth (most do anyway) and once the person has left this world, the celebrations usually end. It seems as though once they have left this world, the day of their birth no longer warrants celebration. Perhaps it is the pain we wish to avoid...the pain of the reminder that the person we loved, celebrated, and cherished is no longer here to join us in the celebration so we .... just .... stop .... celebrating.

Why? Why don't we continue to celebrate the day of their birth? One would think that celebrating their life and the love you had for the person who is gone is a loving way of living with their memory once they have gone. Today, I don't want to cry for the loss of my husband, my friend, my companion. Today I don't want to feel this swelling pain in my chest that I am feeling because this was our day of celebrating the day of his birth, the day of celebrating our life together and our day of celebrating the future ahead of us. 

Yes, I'll still cry today, I'm crying as I type this, but I will also celebrate today. Marc and I would be planning on a nice dinner and brews for his Birth Day. Tonight, I will lift him up in a celebration of his birth and maybe, just maybe, it will help to take away some of the pain in my body of knowing he will never sit next to me again to share a birth day dessert together.... Today I will celebrate and if you would, I hope that you too will celebrate Marc's special day. Anyone who cannot understand my request, well.....all I can say is, blow me. 

Fealty

As of late I have been pondering what it truly means to love someone. What exactly IS love and exactly what are MY expectations in regard to loving and being loved? How do I gauge if a person is the right fit for what I have to give and what I expect in return. We like to say love is unconditional but in reality, love has conditions. If we love someone, we want to be loved in return. That is a condition. Ultimately we need love to give love. Otherwise, as humans, we will be deprived of the thing we most need to be compassionate and empathetic human beings. But I digress, back to what I think it means to love someone, this is what I came up with...

When you have chosen to enter into a relationship, whether it is friendship, family, marriage,  there is an unwritten contract you have entered into. Essentially the contract is an agreement that you will be good to each other, that you will not purposely hurt or betray the other person's trust in you. When you love someone you have sworn fidelity, loyalty, you have a commitment of faith and truth... at least that is what you should have. Yes, I realize I've broken it down into simple terms. Sometimes simple is the best way to begin things. 

Dictionaries have attempted to define love for us. They have failed. They have failed to define love because love cannot be defined merely with words. No, I am not holding a claim to know any more or to know any better than those folks at Merriam-Webster, but I do have my own take on what Love is. From my perspective, if dictionaries are going to offer up words to help with the definition of LOVE they should consider the word "fealty". Look it up. Don't make me do the work for you, if you don't know what it means, look the word "fealty" up and then get back here and finish reading this entry. Hurry, don't dawdle, m'kay? 

Fealty is an old word, and in its strictest definition is a reference to vassal and Lord. If we attempt to explore fealty in its strictest definition we might feel a bit ruffled at the idea of someone "lording" over us. However, in any loving relationship doesn't each person essentially rotate the roles of vassal and Lord?  For those of you with a dirty mind, put the whip down, quit the distraction, get out of the gutter and get back up here with the rest of us and pay attention. 

Where was I? Oh. Yes....Fealty isn't merely pledging our loyalty, it is also the assignation of the relationship being sacred. When we want someone to know how much we love them we generally work hard to prove our devotion, our loyalty, our trust, our faith in them, we show tenderness, and kindness for the other person. If the feelings are mutual the person we love will in turn do the same for us. In the course of this relationship, depending on the situation, we each take turns in the roles of leading or following. We take turns in order to maintain the sacredness, to lift up the importance of how we feel about each other. We defend and we protect. If you have assumed a singular role in your relationship, whether it be vassal or Lord, then the love is clearly out of balance and likely one-sided. If your love is one sided, if you do not feel the other person is also working hard to show you their devotion, their loyalty, their trust, if they are not providing you with the tenderness and kindness that is genuine and freely given, leave. If there is a lack of fealty on your part or theirs just get out. Hotfoot it out of there like your life depends on it, because it does. 

Love isn't words, love is action, love is having faith in the other person that they are deserving of your trust, your honesty, your submission and your strength; love is the decision that you will offer an unwavering devotion, love is fealty. 

Grief is Complicated

Hi. It isn't often that I actually share my blog posts. More often than not I write my thoughts down but never hit the "publish" option and my posts sit here in this virtual box never to be read by anyone but me. Today I was writing about my rollercoaster of emotions in regard to holidays and how brutal they are for me emotionally. After writing my thoughts down I began to read a few other posts that I have kept as private. This morning I'm going to share an old post with a new post.

December 18, 2019

Gone are the days of feeling safe and loved when I felt my husband's hand slip into my own hand. It has been three years and 6 weeks gone by since he last held my hand. Twenty-six years ago Marc slipped a gold ring onto my finger... in that moment, it never occurred to me that I would be sitting here, three years after his death, talking about finding myself single again.

The past three years have been a concentrated journey of self-discovery. Trying to find who I was after literally having half of me suddenly cut away, without warning, has been all uphill. You know what I have discovered? I've discovered that the changes I have gone through have not lessened me. I have been made stronger and softer simultaneously. Stronger in that I know I am strong enough to survive this world and that I will come out with my head high and a smile in my heart, softer in that I seem to feel...everything, with more intensity than should ever be possible.

Grief is complicated. It doesn't go by any rules and if you have any expectations of grief, it will most definitely shatter everything you thought you could expect, know, or attempt to define. Three years have slipped past me and as I sought refuge here in Florida I discovered a version of myself that is closer to who I most wish to be. A version of me who knows that life is fleeting and that when an opportunity presents itself, you jump to grasp it, that love can be felt on a level far deeper than I could have imagined before, that I am okay. I am okay and know that my strength is my own and is not reliant on anyone else, no single person, man or woman.

Life is fleeting. It is a true statement and the idea that we can plan for a future, well....we can, but that doesn't mean the future we plan for will unfold. Whatever my future becomes it will be an  uncomplicated, spontaneous, calm and drama-free (which it has been for years - ain't nobody got time for that!) life. Keeping my life simple and easy has brought peace to every aspect of my life.

A few weeks ago a friend called to catch up. As per our usual we find our way to talking about life's ups, downs, ins, outs, and all the dust bunnies that come with it. In our conversation we talked for a long time about relationships and he said to me that someone had once told him that (paraphrasing here) that this time around, relationships should be easy. I couldn't agree more. There's no time for anger, for grudges, for power plays, or a failure to communicate. Life is too precious. We talked about need versus want.  Wanting something does not necessarily signify a need. We talked about how we have become accustomed to being alone. We talked about the loneliness that comes not from being alone but from remembering how it felt to love and to be loved. I hope he finds love. He has so much kindness and love in his heart, he deserves to have someone to share that with.

July 5, 2020

Three years, eight months, 0 days if I am counting in years, or if counting in months it has been 44 months, or in weeks it has been 191, in days it has been 1338 days since Marc's heart beat its last beat and his lungs took their last breath. Why then at times, after what feels like it has been an eternity, does it also feel like it was just yesterday?

Holidays are painful. Holidays are gut wrenching because with the death of Marc all of our Holiday traditions also died. Over the past 3 years and 8 months I've had friends and family invite me to their Holiday celebrations. Each invitation is a testimony for the love, concern and compassion people have for me and they invite me because they imagine I must be feeling alone and their intention is to reassure me that I am not alone. Sometimes I say yes and sometimes I politely thank them but opt out of attending the festivities. It feels as though all I have to offer is a pervasive sadness and I don't want to be "that" person at a celebration. For those who have invited me to family events, whether I have turned down your invitation or not, please know that the invitation meant more to me than you may have known. Being invited to be a part of your family and your celebration, opening your heart, your home and your family to me makes me feel loved, thank you for that.

When Holidays come around and I am invited to celebrate with friends or family I am reminded that I did not just lose my husband, I lost my "family". Family is who you choose to create a life with. Sometimes it includes children of your own, sometimes it includes the children of the person you fall in love with, sometimes there are no children at all. Family is who you create your life with.

Marc's death left more holes in my life than words can articulate. It is my hope that one day I will begin to enjoy new traditions with someone I love. It is my hope that one day I will find my "family" and then Holidays will again be joyful and happy occasions in my life. New memories will be added to the old and they'll be filled with love and laughter instead of heartbreak, loneliness and pain. It is my hope that one day, I'll be spending my holidays with the person who holds my hand knowing that holding my hand makes me feel safe, loved, and at "home" with my family. Maybe. One day.

No One Writes Stories About Women Like Me

No one writes stories about women like me. My life has been a good life but it has not been the kind of life that leaves a mark in history or has changed the world in a way that the masses would notice or, for that matter, care. No one writes stories about a woman whose life was unremarkable to the world. Women like me, we write stories about our unremarkable lives. Women like me, we write stories about how remarkable our unremarkable life is.

It has been two years and 4 months since his death. In less than 10 days it will be Marc's birthday. Marc would have been 55 this year and I always believed we would be celebrating that day together. Believing wasn't enough because the Fates had something else planned.

As time passes I find myself making peace with the fact that celebrations with Marc will never again happen. Yes it makes me sad, but I am finding my way through the sadness and coming around to the place in my life that almost feels as though it could resemble something that others might assume is normal. What others might assume is some kind of happy.

"Let yourself be happy." Well meaning people have said that phrase to me multiple times since Marc died. I realize it isn't meant to sound critical, but it feels critical when I hear it. When people tell me to let myself be happy I feel as though I must defend my grief. It feels as though my grief is unremarkable and has a timer on it. There is no timer on grief, I believe it changes over time but it stays with you always. Trust me when I say, I want to be happy; it isn't that I am unhappy, people just assume that my sadness, my aloneness equates to unhappy. I am not unhappy, I am sad, big difference.

Grief, life shattering loss .... leaves you in a fog of sorts. A thick, smothering haze that seems to fill every cell of your being and trying to feel anything beyond the sadness and the aloneness is difficult. Every now and then I can see a shimmer of bits and pieces of the old me through the haze. I will never be the same as I was and that is okay. I'm okay with being different than I was because I understand being the same woman will never be possible again. Life is fleeting, I know this, and as time slips past me it is gradually becoming easier to imagine a future that includes a full night of sleep and to once again wake up feeling excited about the day ahead of me.  From where I sit, that feels remarkable.

It Just Is.

Contradiction. Today we set the clocks back but time did not rewind. It never does. When will the clock actually begin moving forward for me again?................................

..........................................here I am, 2 years have passed and still I stand in place watching time move forward and I feel like it has left me behind. I see myself moving, like the sands pouring through an hourglass, but it isn't me - I'm standing still. How can it be me that I see moving through time each day?

Two years.

I used to laugh nearly every day.

My life has changed in ways I never knew was possible. Over the span of the 23 years we spent together, life was not perfect. There were times that it would have been easier to quit. Despite those times, we found our way through the hard times and came out on the other side stronger, better ... more. We came out as so much more than we were before. Was life perfect? No. It was not. But we were stronger and we refused to give in. We never quit on each other. We refused to quit.

Marc and me, we had found a place in our life together where we rarely fought with each other. We laughed nearly every day and we rarely fought because we had discovered the gift of empathy. We found the gift of empathy for each other and it changed everything.

Now I feel so alone. Yes I have my friends and I have their love and their loyalty and their kindness. It is not my intention to take anything away from those whom I love and who love me in return because they mean so much to me and they shed light upon my days when I have difficulty seeing the light. Yet I still struggle.  How do I find my way back to a life where I can laugh again, love again, and know how to hope for a future again? I don't know.  I don't know.

Two years have passed and although I have moved through the hours, the days, the weeks, the months, the years, my grief has not. The grief has not diminished but I am finding new ways to live with it. This slow, aching grief has become a part of me. It has woven its way into the very fiber of my soul. I am no longer the woman I was but neither am I less than I was. This grief is not who I am but it has redefined me. I keep searching for a meaning here but I cannot find one. Maybe some things have no other meaning other than it just "is". 

Match This.

It has been a while since I've seen the inside of my blog.....

The other day I shared on my FB wall about how I locked myself out of my home at 4:30 am, on a work day. It was a complete shit show from my perspective but I had to find the humor in it because if I didn't find the ability to laugh, I wasn't sure I would get off my front step ever again. Here is the story I shared on FB:

My morning took an unexpected turn when I decided to take the trash out at 4:30am..... in my short little nightgown & bare feet. I only stepped 3 feet outside but I always shut the door behind me because Brisco likes to dart out of open doors.         

I stepped out, made sure the door shut behind me and deposited the trash, turned around, turned the door knob & it wouldn’t turn. Not even a little. It was locked up tighter than a flea’s ass over a rain barrel. In fact, all three doors were locked up tight as were all of the windows. FML. Did I mention there was a thick, drizzly fog waiting to let loose the rain clouds? 

I tried everything I could think of to jimmie the lock but nothing worked. My phone was inside so I couldn’t even call anyone. Finally about 5:30 I heard my neighbor’s dogs outside so I walked, barefooted, through my property to the fence and climbed over the fence, in NOTHING but my nightgown. I continue to traipse through the trees, the brush, etc and knock on the neighbor’s door. My kind neighbor answers his door and after explaining my situation goes to grab his phone so that I can call a friend of mine to bring a key. Then I have to walk through the property again, climb the gate again, and wait for my friend....it starts to drizzle rain......       

See, I have a spare key that I leave outside for emergencies....on Sunday though, I used it to unlock my shed & slipped it into my Jean pocket & forgot to return it to it’s hiding spot. Yes....I’m an idiot. I woke my friend from sleep with a phone call at 5:30am. He arrived at my place at 6am, unlocked my door and went back home.         

Perhaps it was divine intervention. Perhaps my being late helped me avoid something terrible on the way to work this morning. Perhaps it is just as simple as me being a fucking dumb ass.      Anyway, time to call it a morning and go make the donuts.

For more than 45 minutes I tried everything I could possibly come up with to get the door open. After 45 minutes and a long gash through the palm of my  left hand, I finally decided to stop trying to solve the problem of how to MacGyver a locked door. For about 15 minutes before I heard the dogs barking I sat on my front steps. It wasn't too cold that morning, but I was chilled from the fog and all I wanted to do at that moment was cry. I wanted to cry a deep, body shaking, loud, screaming cry. All I wanted to do was cry until there was nothing left of me. It also occurred to me that going to work that day was off the table. I felt so angry and so defeated. It wasn't just being locked out of the house, it was a string of things that have happened recently and right then... sitting alone in the shallow illumination of the pole light in my yard I wanted to quit. Not just quit, but declare that life, my life, was shit and that no matter what I have attempted to do for a better life, my life would continue to be shit. 

Those thoughts, that desire to cry, to scream, to go curl up in a ball and never get up again were fleeting. It took me so much longer to actually type all of that than it took for the thoughts to pass through my mind. Thankfully, the next thought that went through my mind was that crying would solve nothing. Crying wouldn't get me back inside my house, screaming wouldn't bring my husband back, curling up in a ball wouldn't keep the lights on and being angry wouldn't change a single thing. Not one thing. I hated feeling helpless. I hated feeling so alone. I hated feeling sorry for myself. 

I hated feeling so hopeless. 

This life that I am living now, it feels so forced. This life doesn't feel like my own anymore. This life feels like a series of endless motion that leads to nowhere. It feels as though I'm living in a fugue with no hope to ever come out of it. If I am being honest here, I'm not sure I ever will find my way out of this fugue, but I plan to keep trying to find my way through it. People talk about being happy, how happiness is their life goal. I think happiness is a by-product of feeling whole; feeling that your life is full, whole, and satisfying is where our happiness comes from. Don't ask me what I believe the key is to feeling whole, that is a question I cannot answer because the answer is as singularly unique as each person is singularly unique. 

Before Marc died, there was no doubt in my mind that my role in this life was to be useful. By useful I mean that my role was to help other people find their way through their fugue. My life, my thoughts, my purpose had such clarity. Everything held the promise of knowing that I was adding to my quest to be whole and that promise of wholeness brought happiness. Yes, I still struggled with things. My life was by no means perfect, nor was it all "happy happy joy joy" everyday. There were days I struggled to be joyful and grateful but those days did not hold me hostage. Those crap days were momentary in the big scheme of my life. 

The string of events that I mentioned earlier, I won't bog you down with all of the boring, whiny details of them but I'll share one thing with you. Actually, what I'm about to share isn't a part of the string but it definitely has contributed to the state of mind I've found myself in. You have all heard of "Match.com" right? Yeah, so I went onto match.com because it kept popping up in my advertisements on FB as well as in my emails. Those fucking algorithms have weedled their way, uninvited,  into my private space. Anyway, I went onto Match.com and filled out a profile and within seconds of doing so Match had given me a list of 10 so-called matches........ within 10 minutes of creating a profile on Match I deleted it. The matches it showed me, what a joke. The men in my age range who seemed to fit into my criteria... all - seriously ALL of them -  only wanted to meet women between the ages of 25-40. I'm just going to leave that there for you. Think about that for a while. 

The idea that I will ever be able to meet someone who will see past my age, past my extra pounds, past the wrinkles around my eyes, or past their own desire to keep feeling young by having a young woman in their bed, well it doesn't seem very likely. When I saw those matches on the website, the feeling of being alone felt more magnified than it has ever been. So I deleted my profile completely and tried to create a plan that will keep me so incredibly busy there isn't time or space for anyone else to fit in. I'm still working on that plan, I'll let you know if I ever figure it out. Meanwhile I'm giving Match.com the double version of what we Americans call "The Bird". Yes, fuck you Match.com and fuck you for intruding upon my private space, and fuck you for not paying attention to the criteria those men had outlined that didn't qualify them to show up in my so called 'matches". Fuck you Match.com. Sit on it and spin.  

Crying is not an option, complaining does not solve anything, wallowing is a waste of energy and focusing on what I no longer have rather than what I do have is self-defeating. How to end this fugue is still a dilemma for me but I'll keep trying to find a solution. 

I still say to Match.com, "You can GFY. Just sayin'."

Life After Death: Day 364....Just Another Day

In our culture we celebrate birthdays, we celebrate anniversaries... we mark the days and we send tidings of love and joy to those celebrating milestones in their lives. I have been trying to tell myself that tomorrow will just be another day if I choose for it to be just another day. Recognizing the anniversary of Marc's death won't do anything to bring him back. If it is just another day, maybe it will end the loop that plays in my mind whenever I find myself back in that night 364 days ago.

Maybe if tomorrow is just another day the nightmare that began 364 days ago will lose its power over my emotions. If tomorrow is just another day maybe I will stop feeling this suffocating pain in my chest. Maybe I can stop feeling like I am yet again losing ground in my healing.... if tomorrow were just another day.......

Life After Death: Bereavement, Day 351

Heart shattering bereavement.

In fourteen days I will begin one more year. The past 351 days have been filled with loss, grief, joy, love, friendship, gut wrenching pain, laughter, tears, the loss of normal and the arduous journey to create a new life with a new normal and with no idea of how or where to begin. For the past 351 days I've been "winging it" and hoping that I'm getting something right. Nearly each day that has passed since November 5th, 2016 has been full of grief, hope, self-doubt, immeasurable love and horrific, through to my core, terror. Terror of failing to find my way through the thick, suffocating blackness I found myself choking on that fateful Saturday night three hundred and fifty one days ago.




Bereavement.

When Marc first died I was numb and very little made sense to me; I still have difficulty remembering things from the first few months. During the early days following his death I remember having to assure people that I would not hurt myself....you know, that I wouldn't go to sleep with the intent of never waking up. To be honest, those assurances were sincere, I did not think that killing myself would serve any purpose.

Bereavement.

Thoughts of ending the relentless physical pain in my chest didn't enter my mind until I moved back to Florida. It was when I actually had to begin moving forward with life that the cold truth of my being alone struck me. It struck me in a way that was incomprehensible. The reality hit me hard... like an iron fist to the jaw... and when it struck me I began to question the point of my continued existence. What could possibly be the point of waking up tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that? I honestly didn't know. I was more alone than I have ever felt in my entire life. Yes, I had my friends and my family, but the loneliness I was feeling after losing my partner of 23 years is the deepest loneliness I've ever known.

Bereavement. Day by painful day of gut wrenching, soul shredding bereavement.

During those blackest times I did not confide in anyone just how dark my thoughts had turned. Instead, I told myself I'd give it one more day... the physical pain I was experiencing was crushing me.  Every. single. day. I woke up feeling trapped and hopeless. My real life had become an actual living nightmare and I couldn't see a way out of it. My days were one long, continuous nightmare with no end in sight. It is impossible for me to pinpoint any specific day or time when I stopped thinking about slipping permanently into the darkness. 

Bereavement.

The pain in my chest is still here but it has lessened. Each day that passes is still a question, "Will today be a good day, or will today be a bad day?" The bad days are the days when I can't catch my breath. On the bad days, tears come without warning. The bad days catch me off guard and I find myself feeling as though whatever forward ground I thought I had made is in danger of slipping completely away from me. Losing ground frightens me. Frightens the hell out of me, but fear is a liar and one thing I cannot tolerate is a liar.  Thankfully, the bad days are becoming fewer and farther between.

351 days of bereavement.

Will I ever stop counting the days? I don't know if I'll ever stop counting, but I'm grateful that I'm still here to count the days if I so choose. 

Life After Death: The World I Know

Day 94: 02/07/2017

     When I lost my dad in April of 2015 I did not have any time to mourn losing him. There were things that needed to be done and there just wasn't time for grief. I have missed my dad over the past two years. I have missed him very much, but I cannot say that I had mourned losing him. When Marc died, the loss of my dad hit me like a tidal wave. When I lost my husband, the grief of losing my dad swirled around me and mixed like thick black smoke with the fog of grief from losing Marc. There were moments when I literally could not breathe. It felt as though my lungs could not expand enough to draw the air into my lungs.

     Now, here I am 94 days after the death of my husband and no matter how much I try to redirect my thoughts I still have those moments where I cannot breathe. It feels like time stops when it happens. What I am sure is probably no more than a second or two feels as though it is almost endless when it happens. I feel myself panic when I can't catch my breath because I'm terrified I'll stop breathing altogether - forever. I wish I could say the panic disappears as quickly as it comes, but I cannot say that. The panic lingers and leaves me wondering if I'll ever be able to find my way back to normal. I wonder, but I don't give up hope.

     My life has rarely gone as planned and I have always found my way to being better than just okay with that fact. Joseph Campbell said, "We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us." In my past there were times it was difficult to make my way through the mire, but I did it and I always came through stronger and with more knowledge than when I started. Today, 94 days after the death of my husband, it is important to remind myself that I have the strength to get through this anguish I feel in the very depths of my soul. It is important to remember how much love I still have in my life.

     Life is not fair, nor does life owe/entitle a person anything. Life is what we make of it, good or bad and I have no idea what this newest version of my life has waiting for me, but I have to let go of the life (we) planned. Currently, I still feel stuck in the mire, but I know I will find my way through it. Eventually. The hanging on is not what I struggle with, it is the letting go that feels so monumentally impossible. Letting go of the life we had planned feels the way I imagine it would feel if white phosphorus were burning its way through my soul.

     A couple of weeks ago a friend asked me how I am coping. When she asked me the question, the first word that came to mind was "love".

Love is how I cope, but the word love standing alone doesn't explain properly exactly what I mean. It explains perfectly how I cope, but it doesn't explain the many levels of the love I have in my life. My life has been incredibly blessed and Marc's death cannot diminish or nullify all of the good in my life. Marc was a large part of what has been good in my life, and he brought so many good things to my life, and his death does not erase any of the things I have had the good fortune of knowing. Yes, I must find my way forward without him and accept with open arms what life has waiting for me, without Marc, and I will. I will find my way because I have love in my heart. Not only love in my heart, but it runs deep in my soul and every single day I am reminded of this when I look around and take in all of the people who are a part of my not so average life.

     I think I am going to go open a bottle of wine and have a toast to the life I have had and a toast to the life waiting for me. It is only 3:30 in the afternoon here in Virginia, but it is 5 o'clock somewhere and that is good enough for me. Prost to the USMA Class of '86 for reaching out to me and helping me through this difficult time. Prost to my friends, prost to my family, and prost to the love all of you so freely shower me with everyday. Prost to you. Thank you for the love. Love is how I cope. Love is the life I know, love is the world I know and love is what makes me weep, for both my loss and the joy waiting for me in my future life.  

Life After Death: Thirteen Days

Day 66: 01/10/2017

     Little by little it feels as though Marc is being peeled away from every aspect of my life. He is disappearing and I am helpless to stop it. Even though I know he is gone, somewhere in the deepest parts of my soul I keep hoping that I am going to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

     Last week I received a letter from the bank and it was addressed to "The Family of Marc Taylor". The bank wanted me to contact them so that they could remove Marc from our bank accounts, our mutual fund, insurance, etc. the letter was to inform me that I had thirteen days to call them... I called the bank yesterday and two hours later Marc had been wiped clean from all of our accounts. He has been erased and it is as if he was never there. Yes, I knew this day was coming but I thought it would be on my time; I thought I could push that day back and the day would arrive when I was ready for it to arrive.

    The day I have been dodging arrived and it mowed me down like a freight train would mow down a stalled car sitting dead on the tracks. I was not ready. The reality of never seeing his name next to mine on our accounts, never again seeing his name next to mine on the address label of letters, never again seeing his car parked in the garage, never again being Marc and Diana is the train barreling down the tracks and I am the stalled car.  

   



     

Life After Death: Forgiveness? Maybe.

Day 63: 01/07/2017

     Forgiveness. In my heart of hearts I know the power of forgiveness and I believe it is essential to let go of anger in order to move forward in life. I had reached a point where the anger had left me and all I felt was pity. My pity came from forgiveness and sympathy. It is easier to forgive when you believe a person doesn't know any different. This past week my lesson seems to be learning how to forgive when a person does know better yet continues to move forward with intentionally cruel and abusive behavior. How do I find forgiveness for the kind of person who uses another's grief to further hurt and try to tear down a person mourning the loss of her husband?

     The answer to forgiveness in light of blatant, purposeful cruelty has been an elusive thing for me this past week. The surge of anger I felt caught me by surprise. The anger caught me by surprise because I believed completely that I had let it go and had fully embraced forgiveness. It turns out, I was mistaken. Perhaps I am on the path back to forgiveness, because today what I feel is immense sadness.

     Maybe all I needed was to voice how angry I was. Yesterday I let out the dark, suffocating emotion that I could only label as hatred. Hatred for the violation of Marc's memory and the violation of the love he had for people he called family. Today there is only sadness. Maybe the sadness is the precursor to forgiveness.
     

Life After Death: Hatred

Day 62: 01/06/2017

     Yesterday was the calendar "anniversary" of two months since Marc died. Two months doesn't sound like a very long time does it? In my world it feels like an eternity. Since Marc's death Thanksgiving, Marc's Celebration of Life, our 23rd Wedding Anniversary, Christmas, and the turn of a new year have happened; in the short span of 2 months a lifetime has passed by - a lifetime of traditions and celebrations. Yesterday I put away the Christmas tree and packed away the decorations. I am still undecided as to whether the house felt more empty with the tree or without it. Grief is an inexplicable thing. There is nothing predictable about it, there is no pattern to follow, it is different for each person who experiences it.

     Yes, today I am feeling sorry for myself. I have written and rewritten this entry no less than 4 times, this may be my 5th attempt - I have lost count. The first 5 times I wrote this I raised the curtain on all of the bullshit that happened immediately following Marc's death. Each entry just sounded like a hate letter. If I told you about all of the bullshit that occurred, most would say, "People sometimes do awful things during their grief." Thing is, the things done and said actually had nothing to do with grief, the things done and said were just another normal day in the life of the shitty fucking people who claimed to be Marc's family. Thank God for Marc's dad, Les, and Les' wife, Phyllis. Marc was a lot like his dad, in more ways than I can list here. Thank goodness.

     When I first began learning about the crap pulled by his sisters and mother, I was crushed. That emotional blow came out as anger, then I just felt sorry for them. My heart hurt for them because I knew they were in pain.

Then, slowly, I discovered more and more about what was done and what was said, the bullshit they tried to pull and currently all I feel is seething hatred for the three of them.

 

    Hatred, it is a powerful emotion and I am trying with everything that I am not to allow it to consume me. It would be easy to let all of my emotions be soaked up into hating those women. It would be so very easy. Projecting my feelings of loss, loneliness, emptiness, and despair into the hatred I feel right now would make sense to me if I were working with a client. Thing is, I also know that those women don't deserve a single moment of my life/thoughts/emotions ever again.

     I miss my husband, I miss my life, I miss my past, my present, and I miss my future. 

Life After Death: Day 51

Day 51: 12/26/16

     I felt like I needed to follow up on my previous entry today. Today has been a crappy day. A huge, crap filled day that I wish would hurry up and be over. Not all of my days are like today though. Some days are what I call good days because on those days, I actually take a shower, blow dry my hair, and wear actual clothes instead of my pyjamas or yoga pants that are paired with an oversized T-shirt. On the good days I try to leave the house and go buy groceries. The cats have to eat and I need to replenish my stash of ramen noodles. Apparently there are stores that deliver groceries and I can't lie, I have thought about having my food delivered. I have thought about never leaving the house again. It would be so easy to never leave the house ever again.

     Then I have a good day. A good day happens and I feel that I can actually have a conversation with other people. Not long, drawn out conversations, but things like, "Yes thanks, I did find everything I was looking for." That is what qualifies a good day for me. I can actually smile at strangers and feign interest in what they say to me. I know how it sounds for me to say, "feign interest". It sounds harsh and uncaring, but the truth is, I feign interest with the hope that if I fake it enough, it will become my truth. Pretending to be interested will cause me to find some glimmer of real interest. So far feigning interest isn't working but I plan to keep faking it until it becomes true.

     Yes, I know that there will be a day in which I will wake up and realize that it is another good day and that it is a good day on the heels of a string of good days. Trying to imagine when that will happen still eludes me. Currently, even on a so-called good day, I want to scream when people talk to me. I want to scream but I don't because I am terrified that if I do scream then I will be unable to stop. If I begin screaming, it is possible there will never, ever be a good day in my future.

     In the meantime, I'll take a page from the Rolling Stones. - if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.... Every night before I fall asleep, I try to imagine that tomorrow will be a good day and that I will take a shower, get dressed, and make my way out of the house and into the world of people. Perhaps if I can imagine a good day then tomorrow I will be able to fake it and then tomorrow will actually be a good day; a good day where I no longer have to feign interest and a good day where my reality does not include the nearly paralyzing fear of a complete and uncontrollable meltdown. 

Life After Death : This Ain't no Chick Flick

Day 39: 12/14/16
     Saturday is the Celebration of Life for Marc. Today, just getting out of bed is a challenge. Saturday is about the joy, the love, the really, really good things Marc brought into the lives of those he has touched. There is no room for sorrow, there is no room for my broken heart.


Day 41: 12/16/16
     Today, I am grateful for Moya and the kittehs. They make me get out of bed everyday. If I didn't get out of bed, they would suffer. Medication helps. I know, sounds so simplistic but in reality, the meds keep the deepest, debilitating sorrow at bay. Debilitating sorrow, the sort of sorrow that means I don't give a shit about anything, no other living creature, not even myself. The meds change the lack of caring into a mode of an almost mechanical existence. It allows me to put the grief on the back burner for now.
     Tomorrow is the Celebration of Life for Marc. My sister and my friend will be here tonight and they will help me get through the morning and get me to Arlington. Since I decided to celebrate Marc's life, rather than mourn what I have lost, I have been steeling myself for tomorrow. My sister, Dale, is coming to stay at my home so that The Moya is looked after so I can stay at the Celebration with everyone who comes to honor my husband. My friend, Andy, he is here to make certain I have a ride to and from Arlington. They both have their "duties" to carry out and their motivation is their love for me. I am such a lucky woman.
     To say I am an incredibly lucky woman sounds like a stark contrast from the subject matter I am writing about. To lose my husband in the prime of our lives does not sound as though I am such a lucky woman - does it? Sounds like exactly the opposite of such sentiment. The truth is, since Marc died, the people Marc and me included in our lives have surrounded me in their love and care. The sort of kind, generous love that has restored some of the "safe-ness" that Marc gave to me. That kind of love makes me an incredibly lucky woman.


Day 44:12/19/16
     Saturday was beautiful. Beautiful beyond words. The love, the stories, the laughter. and the joy. There were some tears, I felt the deep sadness that permeated the room. It lay there, mostly quiet, underneath the laughter and the desire to honor Marc. It would have been so easy to allow the sorrow to take over. So easy. Instead, I focused on all of the love and all of the amazing people who were able to come to Arlington and honor Marc's memory.
     I saw so many people on Saturday that I had not seen in so many years. Amazing, kind, loving people. I will be forever grateful for Saturday. Forever.
      Saturday was simultaneously the best and incredibly difficult day. Yesterday was our 23rd wedding anniversary; I was so incredibly exhausted. Exhausted to the point of numbness. My life will never be anything like I had thought it would be. When Marc proposed to me, he asked, "Will you spend the rest of my life with me?" I did.


Day 46:12/21/16
     Robotic.
     Today I had lunch with a dear friend whom I had not seen in person for about 25 years. It was good to see Vickie. Her heart is still as kind and loving as ever. Vickie has a sweetness about her that cannot be put into words. I've missed her.
     Over lunch we were talking about how I am making it through each day and the best word used to describe my days was "Robotic". My days feel very robotic, yes I have moments of laughter, or a smile, and some of my days are sad and filled with tears, but mostly my days are just robotic. I feel as though someone has flipped a switch in my head and emotions are no longer a part of the daily routine. At least for today. And yesterday. And tomorrow...


Day 48: 12/23/16
     Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I'll be driving to North Carolina tomorrow to be with my family. I want to cry, but I can't.

Day 51: 12/26/16
     In 1999 Marc and I began a tradition of going out for Chinese food on Christmas Day. Except for a couple of Christmases, when we were able to be with family on Christmas, we found a Chinese restaurant for dinner. I know I should
have been happy to be at home with my family yesterday, but the truth is, all I felt was empty. I was surrounded by people - all of whom I love deeply - but I felt completely alone. The entire day I kept thinking that I was still asleep and kept waiting to wake up and discuss with Marc about which Chinese restaurant we were going to be dining at for Christmas dinner.
     The feeling of emptiness isn't because it was Christmas, it is because Marc and me ... we actually liked each other. We liked hanging out with each other, going to restaurants, going out for walks at the river or on the Bay. We enjoyed our music and loved sharing new finds with each other. We enjoyed hanging out with each other. Now everything just feels hopelessly empty. Hopelessly, fucking empty.
     Most days my house looks like a scene from a chick flick after the leading character has her heart broken by her love interest. Well, I don't eat ice cream so there aren't any empty ice cream cartons laying around but there are lots of empty cookie packages and dirty dishes, and empty glasses.

My socks and shoes are scattered everywhere and clothes only ever seem to land in a pile next to a chair. Once a week I clean it all up. Seriously, what does it matter? Self respect? What ever. At the end of the day, the house is still empty. I am the only one here and I lack the motivation to care. Unlike the chick flick, where the lead character always gets her man back, my man will never walk through the doors again. It doesn't matter how much I wish for him to come back to me, he never will. This empty, messy house isn't a scene from a chick flick, it is my real life and on November 5th, shit really got real.
   
   
     

Life after Death: Day 38

Day 38 was a good day. Nothing special happened today, unless you consider that I have only cried once - so far. I showered, dressed in clean clothes, and went to the grocery store. Nothing special. Normal, everyday sort of day; I felt emotionally balanced most of the day. The only difference today from the old normal is that my day seemed to move along in a deafening silence. Each day is saturated with a silence almost too loud to bear at times.

When Marc wasn't traveling, or away from home, my mornings would begin with the sound of him climbing out of bed. I would lay there, half asleep, listening to the sounds of him moving around in the house. The shower would turn on and 10 minutes later I would hear it shut off. Next, I would hear the faucet running and he would brush his teeth, always followed by the sound of the ironing board squeaking open so that he could press his clothes for work. After getting dressed, I would hear Marc's footsteps as they headed back towards the bedroom....he always came to my side of the bed before he would leave for work so he could leave me with an "I love you," a kiss, and a big hug. The best hugs.

I loved those sounds of him beginning his days. The sounds of Marc moving through the house, showering, ironing, they always brought me comfort, and they always made me feel safe. When he was traveling or away from home, my mornings always started with a string of heart emojis, or kisses, and an "I love you sweetie!" He always wished me a good day and always made me feel loved and missed.

Now my days begin in absolute quietude. No more footsteps through the house, no squeaky ironing board, no more, "I love you", no more kisses, no more hugs, no more heart emojis or kiss emojis, and no more "I miss you!", no more feeling safe. All that is left is the deafening silence. That excruciating silence is the sound of loss.

Tomorrow will begin the same way today started. It will begin in quietude and just like today, I'll get up, get dressed, and I'll try to get things accomplished. Or, maybe I'll stay in my pyjamas all day and never leave the sofa. Only tomorrow will tell. 

Life after Death: Day 36

That tiny little word, "Loss" has elbowed me in the ribs yet again. Loss elbowed me, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Traditions. Our traditions." I realized that all of the fun, sweet traditions Marc and I had enjoyed all of these years were over. Certainly I could still continue with our traditions but the key word there is "our", not "my". What does one do with that? 

GO ARMY! BEAT NAVY! 

Speaking of traditions.....Go Army! Beat Navy! has been the battle cry in our home for 23 years. We have worn our Army swag and enjoyed our adult beverages each year while watching the Army-Navy game for 23 years. For the past 14 years, Marc and me have watched and enjoyed THE game, even in defeat we cheered Army on, waiting to bear witness when Army would give Navy a good whoopin'. Yesterday, Army won against Navy and my emotions were not the crazy loud, happy, ecstatic shouts of joy. Mind you, if Marc were still alive, we would have been at the actual game, cheering, hollering, and celebrating this win. We were both so excited about being able to go to the Army-Navy game this year.

Instead, I binge watched some show on Netflix because I couldn't bring myself to watch the game. Losing this tradition might pass less painfully if I simply did not watch the game. It is impossible for me to explain, but I knew Army would win; I knew it in my bones, deep in my soul, that this year would be the year for Army to once again claim victory over Navy. I knew Army would win and that Marc would not be here to celebrate with me. So I couldn't bring myself to continue on with a tradition that made me feel even more alone, more empty than I already feel.

Our tradition of watching the Army-Navy game is over. All of our traditions are over. No more dining together at a Chinese restaurant on Christmas Day, no more Sunday morning brunches, no more July 4th holidays with the cousins, just..... loss. 

Life after Death: Day 35

Kate: A man was killed right in front of me he died in my arms and I thought it cant end just like that on Valentine’s day and I thought about all other people who love him waiting at home, who will never see him again. Then I thought what if there is no one. What if you live your whole life and no one is waiting?
The Lake House

"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself."

David Herbert Lawrence

In this world of loss, of grief, I am trying with every fiber in my being to not feel sorry for myself. Feeling sorry for oneself is not how one moves forward in life. 

35 days. It has been 35 days since Marc died and each day that passes I struggle to make sense of tomorrow. How do you makes sense of loss? Loss. The word means so much and yet it is so inadequate a descriptive for what it truly means. One tiny little word, yet it is meant to qualify so many levels of what has been lost. One tiny little word that is supposed to explain all of the many levels of grief. How do you explain loss?

Since Marc died, so many friends have reached out, trying to offer comfort and trying to help ease the pain in my heart - the pain in my soul. The kindness, the loving words, the gentleness in each word from each person has been touching and so very appreciated. Grief, however, cannot be assuaged by words, we all wish they could be but they cannot. With that being said, don't allow that fact to keep you from reaching out when someone you care about loses a person they love. There aren't words that can ease the pain, the fog that sets in cannot be penetrated by any word in the English language. Later though, once the fog begins to lift, the words others share still won't ease the pain but they do fill you with love. 

Since Marc's death I have been trying to navigate my way through the fog of this grief that has consumed me. Each time I think the fog is lifting and I can see clearly, I make the mistake of blinking. I blink and then the fog is rolling over me all over again. That moment of clarity I had before I blinked is gone and I am never quite sure if I'll ever have clarity again. 

Clarity, one of the many aspects of that tiny little word "Loss". How does a person move forward when nothing is clear, when the fog is swirling around you? No one can offer advice or answers for me. Even if someone tries, their answers would mean nothing to me. Only I can find the answers, but at this moment, I don't know the answer and I've tried with earnest to answer that question. 

The Moya

As I sit here in the quiet of the day, The Moya is laying on the sofa next to me. She is curled as tight as she can get to stay on the blanket. She knows she isn't supposed to lay on the sofa so she squeezes herself up onto the tiny square of blanket that my legs are under. Moya is twitching as if she is closing in a group of wandering sheep or redirecting a calf that wants to stray from the herd....she is yipping and barking in her dreams. I can hear her muffled voice calling out to whatever it is she is corralling in her
fields of wild grass and flowers.............


.......I wish I could join her there. In her dreams. I wish I could see her face smiling and hear the laughter in her bark as she runs, untethered and free to do what she loves most, keeping 'it' together. In her dream, I'm pretty certain she is herding some sort of animal back into a tidy little group. She does it at the dog park with the other dogs. She keeps them together. She keeps me together. The Moya brings so much joy into my life. 

Have A Wonderful Day

Have a great day!!

I'm serious. My wish for you is that you will go through the day with a smile on your face and with grace in your heart. If you can do those two things, it will be a good day. It's a fact. Try it.

Even on my worst days, I find myself wishing a good day to everyone I encounter. No, it's not just a thought, I say it to them and I smile. My exact words are usually these,"I hope you have a wonderful day." Then, I smile and look them in the eye. It's important to look them in the eye because then, they'll know that I mean what I say. At least I hope they'll know.

So to you I say,"I hope you have a wonderful day." If I could see you, I would smile as I looked into your eyes and I would know my day will be a good one. Wish someone a good day today and mean it. I promise, your day will improve and you can go through your day with a smile on your face and grace in your heart.

xoxo

Escape.....Your. Dreams. Escape, You.

So much for my "30 Day~ A Post A Day" attempt. I'd like to say I'm going to get back to it but who am I kidding? If I make this a job or a chore, I won't do it.

Photo by Patty Maher - 

Fact is, I was quite occupied and probably should not have undertaken the chore when I did. The kids were here visiting and we stayed rather busy during their stay here. Having them here is always fun but it is also exhausting.

For weeks now I've had so many things turning over in my head. Things that seem to want to find an escape from the dark caverns in my brain but probably should be kept where they are. Down, deep into the blackness that rarely, if ever, sees even the smallest flicker of light. Maybe it will see a teeny tiny flicker of light. A flicker as weak as that of a candle. That flicker of light that makes you turn and try to look twice, straining for a peek, at whatever it was you caught a tiny glimpse of out of the corner of your eye. You strain - lean harder in to see it.... it is like that small, tiny, whisper that calls out but you can't understand what it is saying.... it is in there, deep in the dark recesses of your mind and that is where those things should stay (I think). Once you let them out, who knows the havoc they shall wreak on you and your steady, contented, uncontented life.

What if.......what if you open up the way out, like unlatching a suitcase, and what you had held in for so long....what if it all..............................................





 escaped.




What if?