Bursting

I have been having a weird thing happen lately. I will be going about my day and suddenly my heart is beating too fast. My breath catches. There is a pounding in my ears and an overwhelming wave of panic hits me. Every time, the same phrase comes into my mind: Where is he?

It doesn't matter, really. He's not here. And suddenly the tears come, the ache settles in my chest and it all hits me, again and again.

Not Here.
NOT. HERE.

I talk about him all the time. With my kids, my family,  my friends. I cry and talk about him with my (endlessly patient, amazingly wonderful) boyfriend. With my therapist. With the women in my support group. With complete strangers, who somehow manage to touch upon a subject that brings him to mind.

I talk about him joyfully. I talk about him with awe. I talk about him while my mending heart breaks again, bleeds a little more.

As the one year mark of his death gets closer, I get flashbacks of this time last year. I think of all the things I could have... should have... done differently. I think about all of the moments we stole before he slipped away.

And I still hear it, every time. Where is he?

The Ugly

You've probably heard this before, but death is not pretty.  Much like birth it is messy, painful and laborious.  Something we all must go through, and yet in our society, so cloaked in shadow and fear that until you actually are present for the process of death you may not really comprehend it.

When I am lucky, I can remember the good times. Falling in love, raising our babies and sharing our small victories. The richness of two lives woven together, and all of the joy that brought... and still brings, even though there is a huge piece missing.

And then there are other times. Times that come out of nowhere, catch me fully awake as I go about my daily life or hit me as I fall asleep, my mind relaxed enough to let in a barrage of memories I cannot forget.

Blood everywhere.  Being told to buy red or black sheets and towels so that if my husband bled out at some point it would be less scary for our kids.

The gaps between breaths. The SOUND of someone you love struggling to do the one thing we all do effortlessly everyday.

Being handed a sheet of paper and told to make arrangements for the disposal of the body. As if that body wasn't still lying in my living room, struggling through another day.

A friend of mine, who had lost her first husband years earlier, tried to prepare me. "There will be a sound that comes out of you when it happens. You won't even know you are making it." She was right. I screamed that day in a way I never had before, even in the throes of pain so awful I thought I must be ripping apart. It was not a cry, I couldn't do that yet. I didn't make that sound again until 6 months after Jason died and the numbing fog I was in began to clear a little.  It is the sound of pure grief, and it is primal. It is horrifying. It is cleansing.

That is another grief I have had to contend with. I thought, hoped, that surely he would die peacefully.  That I could hold his hand and whisper my love to him and make it somehow easier to let go. Surely,  he deserved that. But it didn't happen that way. And those memories still claw their way to the forefront of my mind and leave me in a panic. They won't stop, but I hope someday they will become less powerful. I hope someday I can use them to help others in the same situation,  even if just a little.

Shadows

As expected,  this time of year is proving to be... difficult. Even though I have come a long way, healed up a little bit, gotten a little bit stronger... there are moments (who am I kidding... hours, days really) when I am knocked flat on my ass. It becomes hard to breathe, the dark clouds gather above me and every ounce of energy dries up and I'm left exhausted.  Motionless. Despairing. Everything is suddenly TOO MUCH. I hate being alone and yet I can't stand to be around people... especially the ones who love me. I am paranoid... why is everyone staring? What have I done now? How much of my crazy is showing through this carefully constructed facade? Everyone must think I'm stupid, pathetic. Or maybe I'm doing too well... maybe I don't care anymore. The numbness that has become such a familiar companion comes rushing back and even a smile is too hard to fake. Look at me, I'm still going. I'm even happy sometimes. I'm a monster.

I know that isn't true. I'm not fine and I am, at the same time. And that is ok. I can be despondent and sad and angry at the very same time that I feel immense gratitude and joy and comfort. That is the nature of this beast.

Because there is such a delicate balance.  Sometimes I am perfectly level and I stand poised like an amazon warrior and revel in my own strength. Fuck you universe... you won't ever stop me. I can do anything, I am fearless. And other times someone gives me a hug and I crumple, torn and broken and  burning in the fire of my loss... and all I still have left to lose.  I am terrified. And confused.  And confident that I will be ok. That my children will be fine. That I can do this, I can still make my life count. I have so much to give.

I need patience, so much patience and understanding.  Because getting through the funeral and all the hubbub surrounding the first few months? I feel like that is the easy part. There comes a time, months later, when the shock has mostly worn off. When everyone around you, including yourself,  just wants you to get better. When those who love you have just a little less compassion.... and it is totally understandable. When you are expected to carry on. And that is the hard part. When you look normal and you feel mostly ok, but in reality the REALNESS of what has happened becomes concrete. This is it. This is not a movie or a dream. You will not be waking up from this. Nothing will ever be normal again. You know something that other people, people fortunate enough to not have experienced the utter destruction of a life, can't know: you are alone in this. We all are, really. No outside thing, person or place can fix you. Only you can grieve and struggle and hurt and grow. Only you can take a deep breathe and convince the monster in your head that you may be hurting and you may be sad but you are still in charge. You will be the one who decides how this will play out. You will be the one that saves yourself.

Thanksgiving

My son told me something the other day,  something that shocked me in its dual simplicity and complexity.  We were talking about Thanksgiving and the holidays in general and I was trying to convey the idea that even though the day will be sad and we will miss Jason,  it doesn't have to be a day of abject misery. I was trying to convince myself more than him. He turned to me and said "Mom, it's just a day. We've been living everyday without Dad."

He is right. Every day brings a reminder. Every day is difficult.  And every day, we find joy and happiness and we keep on going. To steep ourselves in sadness and wallow in what is missing is unhealthy.  It blocks out what we have learned from this, belittles the everyday struggles we've overcome. It would be easy to settle in bitterness and see our lives only through the lens of all that we have lost... and doing that, it feels like the worst possible way to honor Jason.

I am so thankful that I had him for as long as I did. I am thankful that my children had a father who loved them enough to teach them how to be practical, resilient and to see the bigger picture.  I am thankful for his love and all that he taught me. I am thankful that he respected me and believed in me... even when I didn't.  I am so thankful that I got to care for him and comfort him as he left us, that I got to be his hero when he needed one the most. I am thankful that most days I wake up greatful for each new day knowing that, despite it all, I am strong enough to keep going. I'm thankful that I know what real love is. I am so, so thankful, even in my grief and sadness.

Junk in the Trunk

Ok, taking a brief detour from the sad that is this blog to talk about something silly.

(Sidenote: Yesterday was our first Halloween... and it was tough. I was a little blindsided by how hard it hit me, but, I dealt with it and ended the day with a smile.  The kids had fun, we talked a lot about Jason and his insatiable pb cup habit & had some laughs. So, all is well.)

When Jason started to get sick,  I lost my appetite. That has never happened to me before,  I usually stress eat. Caring for him, I had to be reminded and sometimes forced to eat. And when he died it just got worse. Nothing tasted good,  nothing sounded good. This went on until about 6 weeks ago, when I noticed that I was HUNGRY again. Hallelujah!  I love food, always have and always will, and I really missed enjoying eating. But.... the side affect of all that non eating was a significant weight loss. I got kinda... skinny. None of my underwear,  pants or bras fit anymore. I continuously got told how good I looked...which kinda pissed me off. Everytime I heard that I wanted to scream! I look skeletal!  I don't feel good and I have headaches all the time! I would have traded every single pound for one more minute with my husband. But whatever,  it WAS fun shopping for new, smaller clothes. It was kinda neat to see my hipbones again.

But... (pun intended) I kinda missed my boobs. And my butt. And even, just a little,  having nice round hips and my belly. I've never been a waif. Ive often joked that I have the opposite of an eating disorder,  because I would look in the mirror and think "Damn... I look good", even at my chubbiest. And my husband never complained about my body... he dubbed pregnancy and pms "titty fairy" time because um, well, yeah. The girls always got big. I still got hit on. Barring normal periods of "I'm a disgusting sausage" I've worked hard at being comfortable in my skin, no matter the size. I really would rather be happy, funny and interesting than  stick thin. Just sayin'.

So, yeah. My appetite is back, with a vengeance.  My goal is moderation and consistent exercise. Adding muscle and feeling good. And goddammit,  enjoying my bacon cheeseburger on a pretzel bun when the mood strikes!  :)

Tidal Waves

This weekend my brother, my beloved "Middle Mouse" (I'm Big Mouse as the oldest, you get the idea...) had a health scare. A scare that held terrifying echoes of Jason's illness. Thankfully,  he is & will be ok. I got to see him and hug him yesterday and the relief of realizing that he was going to be fine was astounding... I took a breath I realized I had been holding for two days. Muscles unknotted that I didn't know were clenched. And now I have a confession to make:
I did not react well. At all. I didn't rush to his side immediately. I barely could talk about it. I didn't text him right away. I could not be there for him.

I was paralysed. I was so scared at the thought of losing him - of watching his amazing wife and beautiful daughters try to weather that pain, of seeing my parents tossed back into such a nightmare- that I froze. I tried to soldier through. I tried to not think about it. And you can guess how that worked out.

I am failing at things. It is so hard to admit that, but it is the truth. I am so stretched tight that I have no give... I cannot live my life the way I want to right now. Objectivity and logic are drowned out in pure adrenaline fueled panic and confusion. What do we do when we are no longer the person we were? When our brain and body will not behave according to our wishes? When we realize we are very much naked in the storm?

For me, I think I may need to start internalizing the messages from the people I love and trust. The people who are telling me to take care of myself, to be kind and gentle with myself. To listen to myself. To forgive myself and to start to let go.

I cannot let this experience ruin me. I need to accept the change, in my life and I myself. I need to let go of the guilt.

I am adapting to his absence.  That is healthy... not a sign of disloyalty. It doesn't mean I didn't love him, that I didn't fight hard enough for him. I did... and he died anyway. Carrying on with my life is the only sane and healthy choice I can make.

I am enough for my children. They lost their father and it was and will continue to be a brutal experience.  First and foremost they need their mama. And I am getting there again. As shame filled as I am about my behavior in the past months, I know I was just surviving. I am not superwoman or June Cleaver. I made some mistakes and now I will make them right. I need my children and they need me. And there is no one who can do a better job of helping them heal and thrive and emerge into amazing people.  We are a family, as we are.

So I'm choosing to take a little time off work... I'm very lucky to have this option, it will make things extremely tight financially,  but I really need some time. I need to come back to the land of the living and get stronger. And I will. Because through all of this I've had a deeo seated feeling that I will be ok. It's going to be ok.

A New Season

Last week in my grief support group we spoke about fall and how it is/will be a trigger for many of us. The winding down of a year & the beginning of the holidays,  can be an understandably difficult time. I realized this morning, as my daughter and I walked to her school with our dog, that this will be our third season without Jason. He died in the winter, spring passed in a fog and summer is all but gone. And so here we go, heading into the months when he was sick.

In the last few months, I have bounced back and forth between "ok, this is getting (definitely not easier) more bearable" & "fuck this, I hate this, I can't do this, I don't want this life anymore" more times than a vigorous game of pinball.  I wish I could say that I've been working hard at being ok but more than anything I've just compartmentalized.... probably a little too well. I am still numb & foggy, a lot of the time. I drink more than I should. I am ashamed... away, absent from my children much more than I want to admit. I can't seem to quit smoking.

I have a tentative goal of being tobacco free by the one year mark of Jason's death. In fact, that is a tradition I want to practice, for him & myself. I want to honor his life & death by accomplishing a goal each year. I guess I still want him to be proud of me. I still wish he could love me. I still fight the feeling that I failed him.

Giving up is my greatest fear at this point.  That I will lose my composure and spiral into something I can't get out of. That I will break, again, and my weakness will be exposed for the world to see. It is easier to pretend that I am ok. And the more I pretend,  the more I avert my gaze from his pictures and lock my feelings about him and his death into a box in my head, the more it becomes easier to cope. I am afraid that that box may grow so heavy, the lock encrusted with rust, that I will not be able to open it when I need to. I really don't cry a whole lot anymore, I am distracted and distanced from my pain and I am fairly certain it isn't healthy. But, it is so hard to see through the fog, so hard to admit how exhausted I am all the time, so hard to continue to feel needy and unbalanced. Keeping that box firmly closed? Right now it is the only way I can manage.

But, there have been some goods things too... it helps to list out what I HAVE done, it makes me see that I am still trying. I have:

Gone back to work. I can't say I'm a model employee & I am extremely distracted,  but I am trying. And work, for me, is a very good thing. I need the zen I get from the kitchen.

The kids & I still attend our grief support groups. We also have tried a couple different alternative healing therapies that have been immensely helpful.

I found a therapist who I really like and trust and he will be seeing us all individually & together.

I have a good psychiatrist who helped me to find a good combination of medicines for me to help manage my depression. Some months i have been able to be a little less dependant on antianxiety meds. I can cope better with the panic attacks and sad spirals.

I started cooking dinner more often. Not everyday, not even most days. But at least a couple times a week I cook a homemade meal for all of us. I don't know why that is such a hard thing for me, but it is.

I hired a house cleaner to come once a week and barring my swiffer wetjet and the trampoline it is the best money I have ever spent. I wish I could fford her twice a week, I think that would be perfect... and I'm going to try to find room in my budget to make that happen.

I have been exercising.  Not nearly often or consistently enough,  but a lot more than I used to. It feels good and it is something I need to make a priority.

I've taken the kids on several daytrips. We had fun at the beach  lot this summer & the kids dabbled in body boarding.

One of my best friends and I went to an epic comedy festival... I got to see some of my very favorites: hannibal buress, flight of the conchords. And DAVE MOTHERFUCKING CHAPPELLE.  So, so inspiring.  I WILL do that someday.

I wrote a paid article for an online publication.

I bellydanced and it was really fun.

I also started dating. Too soon? Maybe,  for others, but not for me. I loved and had the love of an amazing man, who wanted me to find love, companionship and comfort again. Who told our children that he hoped mommy would find somebody to love again, who could be a friend and love them just as much as he did. His selflessness and bravery leaves me in awe... in the face of his death, he just wanted us to be happy and cared for. And I want that too. I went on some dates, had some fun and some not so much fun. And I met someone,  who I like a lot. Our relationship so far is very natural and feels very right. He is kind, caring, fun and makes me very happy.  The spark is definitely there and I am  a little nervous but excited to see where it goes. :)

Im sure there are other things, but I've already made myself feel better, so that's enough for now.