Happy Birthday

I started this at 4 am. It is now 5 am. Maybe I just don't have words for this.

But, I do. There is so much going on in my head it's difficult to pick out coherent thought right now. You should be turning 39 today. You should be annoyed that I made a big deal out of your birthday and bought you something even though you always told me not to. Your friends should be ribbing you with old man jokes. The kids should be giving you thier homemade cards that you will keep in your underwear  drawer until I go on a cleaning spree and move them to the box where we keep all of the birthday cards, pet rocks and handprinted handkerchiefs that we've collected over the years.

Instead, I'm tempted to ignore this day. God knows I've become a master at avoiding... except not really. No one is truly fooled. I feel everyone watching, it feels like the whole world is conspiring to remind me, in a thousand ways, of how not here you really are.

Our son goes to Junior High round-up today. He is terrified, and so am I. I'm doing everything in my power to reassure him that it will be ok, that starting something new is always scary and that every other 7th grader goes through the same thing. That he will be fine. And, he will be.

But every holiday, every special occasion you miss, every new chapter we start without you... it just brings it all back at once. Watching you die. Losing you, over and over. No matter how much ground we gain, how much we think we accept it... It's all still fresh. It's always there. Rationally, I know it always will be. That 15, 20 years from now I will still shed tears over all that you've missed. As pointless as it is to dive into the misery of asking "why?", I will probably still do it.

There are moments now, nearly 6 months later, that bring me to my knees all over again. I miss you,  we all do. Our little family feels broken, interrupted and damaged in a fundamental way that I am trying desperately to repair. I try to take a moment each day to remind myself of all that we do have... and it is a lot. But when I try to push away the pain, pretend it's just another day and grit my teeth to get through it, it only serves to poison everything. I am having a hard time with trust, I am angry... so incredibly and futilely angry. When I am so heartbroken that I can barely breathe, it colors everything. I am stupid, over-emotional, a burden. Broken. So very, very broken.

Early Monday we all woke up in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower. It was beautiful. I lay there and thought about how much you loved that sort of thing. I thought about one night last year, driving home from a poker game,  when we both saw the same shooting star and you said it was a sign of good things to come... that life was just getting better and better. You loved me and I loved you and we had all the time in the world in front of us. Except, we didn't. Just like a falling star, you burned bright and were gone too fast.

Happy birthday my love.

Change... The Bowie Kind.

I think change, be it huge or small, profound or insignificant, is probably one of the most difficult aspects of life. Something that we can yearn for in one moment and run in terror from in the next. Getting to a place in which being open to change, accepting that it is inevitable and not struggling against it is a huge part of our growth as a person. 
I have always been spontaneous,  a walk through the fire kind of person.  But, deep, significant change has more often than not thrown me for a loop. I like to have a plan. I may not always adhere to said plan, but I like the comfort of it.
Of course,  this year has been full of change. The plans I had, the plans WE had, those are no longer an option. I will no longer be able to be content in a notoriously underpaid proffession... I'm now responsible for the entirety of my families financial well being. I have to figure out how to handle that now. I am no longer parenting as a team... and while I thankfully have an amazing support system, at the end of the day I alone am responsible for my children and thier ability to face the world as an adult. Daunting, especially when you factor in that both my children are approaching the teen years. Every time something new comes up, something I may not be used to dealing with, I have a moment (or hour, or day) of "this isn't fair! I shouldn't have to do this!" and then I do it anyway. And I get stronger. More capable. 
I have changed. A lot. There are things that are just no longer important to me. There are things that are now incredibly important to me. I'm getting better at asking for help and taking it when it is offered. There are conversations I now force myself (and others) to have, because talking about the tough stuff has become essential to me, simply because I am used to it now. Carrying on in the face of judgement and disapproval,  it isn't so scary anymore. Living with the unknown has become routine. Accepting that I may be fine this morning and inconsolable this afternoon is difficult,  but I am handling my own fragility in the best way I can.
Letting go and remembering that this is my life now... it is happening. A little bit here and there, but it is sinking in. Living in a fantasy that things will someday be back to normal is counterintuitive... there is no normal. There is just now.
Admitting that I am sad, easily upset, unfocused and sensitive -vulnerable- is not fun or easy, but it just is.
Admitting that I am finding moments of happiness is even harder. As if, by admitting that I am not really crying everyday anymore,  that it is easier to look at pictures or talk about him, that I am enjoying myself more than I am not, that is somehow a betrayal.  That his death was any less traumatic,  that I must not have loved him enough.
Bullshit.
I miss him every day. I most likely always will. But clinging to grief, wishing things were different than they are? I just can't keep doing that. Only Jason and I truly knew our relationship. And although we had and continue to have the love and support of everyone around us, he was the one dying. And I was the one watching, knowing I would have to keep living, without him. And that? That is what he wanted me to do. It is the only way I can truly honor him and keep him alive in our hearts... I have to keep going.

To The Mountains

Jason and I loved camping.
It was something that was a part of both of our childhoods and when we were dating we spent lots of time camping out on the beach and in the jungle. When we moved back home to California we made it a point to take at least a couple of camping trips a year... Ozzie was seven months old the first time he went camping.
A few years ago we were camping at one of our favorite spots up in the mountains when Jason reconnected with some old friends. He began playing poker with them and when they invited us to come along on their annual family camping trip, we decided to go. He had been playing with them for awhile (and had known most of them for a long time) but I had yet to meet them and was pretty anxious. I can be awkward. I've never had the easiest time making friends... I'm a lot better about it now, but I've spent most of my life without a huge circle of friends. I find it difficult to make small talk and always seem to say exactly the wrong thing. But, he kept reassuring me that it would be great, that they were all very laid back and he thought we would all get along well.
He was right.
The group of friends I made on that trip have become as important to me as my own family. For the first time I felt accepted and it really gave me the confidence I needed to develop other friendships,  all on my own. They've been with us, through all of this. Jason & I talked about the trip this summer, one we both knew he would not be making. He made me promise to go and to keep going.
And so I am. I would be lying if I said I was looking forward to it. In a way, yes. That was his favorite place on earth, those mountains were his personal paradise. His spirit is there, but it is everywhere for me and I'm worried that it may be overwhelming to be there without him. But the kids are especially excited... and as I write this my twelve year old is vaccuuming out my car and planning out how we are going to pack everything in. He watched and helped his dad enough times that he obviously feels that it is a job that now falls to him. (I will be double checking, of course, but I'm confident he'll do a good job.) He's mentioned that I should probably have my oil changed before the trip. It makes me incredibly proud and unbearably sad.
So, off we go. Another first. But, we will be surrounded by loved ones and I've always been a big believer in the power of fresh air, bright stars and s' mores (... not to mention my friend David's excellent bloody mary's) to ease lifes troubles.

Darkness & Thank Gawd for Modern Medicine

Let's get uncomfortable,  shall we?

I woke up Sunday morning, after a particularly hellish few weeks, and realized I felt... different. A little more focused. A little stronger.

The constant cacophony in my head, screaming, shouting, whispering to me that I can't do this... I won't survive it, that I will never be happy again,  that it would be better for everyone if I was just not here anymore, that the only way out of this misery is just to end it all... It's getting quieter. 

I have depression and becoming suicidal is simply a (thankfuly) very small part of it.  I've very likely had it my entire life and I have no doubt I will struggle with it forever. But I've managed it and worked at it and tried to accept it as simply a part of myself... a part that I have control over. A part that, with the right combination of medication, self care and sheer force of will, I can channel into something positive. I've done it before and I will do it again.

The last time I had pervasive suicidal thoughts I was 18... drifting and alone. Recovering from an abusive, toxic relationship.  Aimless and lost. I came close on one single occasion. I just wanted out. The only thing that held me back was the pain I woud selfishly be putting my family through. That it is not an answer, but a cop out. That I had things to do and people to see and a world to change, on whatever scale that may be.

When my therapists or psychiatrists ask if I am having suicidal thoughts, I lie. I say no. I know what will happen if I say yes and I know that I can and will get past it. The stakes are higher now... I have two human beings undrr my care who I love fiercely,  who are ultimately more important than the pain I am struggling  with and who have had thier worlds shattered. I will not add to their pain.

So, while I have absolutely no intention of leaving this world before I am damn well ready,  it is important to me to admit that those thoughts and feelings are there. To  release the shame I have at feeling this way, to admit it and strip them of their power. Slowly, it is happening. Slowly, I can feel a little joy. I have to trust that I am strong,  that I am doing my best... even if I fall short, repeatedly.

My world is scary right now. I question why anyone would want to be in it with me... but you are. Many of you will never know how much you are saving me, in a million small and huge ways. Many of you want to do more,  but this can't be rushed. I will get there... and I am eternally blessed to have wonderful people in my life who are walking with me, in whatever way they can.

Home

I've always been a homebody. As a teenager I would tell my friends that I was grounded so I wouldn't have to a.) Talk on the phone (still not a huge fan... thank you whoever invented text messaging- I would have no friends if it wasn't for you) and b.) go anywhere.

I always have a million projects going. I always have something that needs doing. 6 months ago my idea of a perfect weekend would involve going absolutely nowhere and never having to change out of my pj's.

It is hard for me to be home now. I've rearranged and halfheartedly reorganized but these walls have too many memories. The house is too full and too empty at the same time.

My projects hold no interest. I can barely make myself keep the house clean. All that busy stuff that could be taking my mind off of everything... it just doesn't work right now. I'm not reading much... and that is just wierd.  I am usually reading at least two books at a time. I can only watch certain tv shows and movies, nothing that requires concentration... I just don't have it.

I force myself to open  the mail,  to pay the bills and file things away for records. To make phone calls I dont want to make. To try and cook dinner at least a couple times a week. To remember to shower.

But mostly, I run. I have to get away. A lot of the time, by myself. I feel guilty for pushing the kids away, but I don't have the energy or patience. I see what they need and I try to give them as much as I can, but I don't have a lot. No answers,  no promises.  I can hold them close and tell them it will be ok and wonder if they believe me, because I'm not sure that I do. I find myself exploding over the smallest things. I write angry letters I will never send. I either care waaaaaayyyy too much or not enough. I cannot pretend to be anything but profoundly and perpetually a mess.

I'm trying to divide my time equally so that I'm not leaning on anyone too much... but I do anyway. I have places I can go, shoulders to cry on and arms to hold me when I'm unable to keep going. I'm very, very grateful for that. 

It won't always be like this. I won't always be like this. But I will never be the same again.

4 Months

Father's Day was hard. So was the week leading up to it and so was yesterday.

Truthfully,  every day is hard.

Yesterday marked 4 full months. Too long.... and not long enough. I crave distance from this misery. Jason is the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. I miss his voice, I miss his smell. I miss his seal bark of a laugh. I miss the way he always licked his plate clean and thanked me for dinner... even when I refused to put meat in my lasagna. I miss buying him snacks, just because.  I miss random texts when he saw a particularly interesting mullet and I miss him snoring so loud I would have to wear earplugs and cover my head in a pillow.

I miss him.

And he is gone.

I've come to a place where I know that... really know it. It's a new level of pain... because I want to be ok again.  I want to be strong and content and at peace. And at some moments, I am. Sometimes, I am happy. It doesn't take much to upset the delicate balance that I have, but it is there. I have to remember,  when the balance shifts and I spiral once more into despair, that I will be ok. I will always carry this pain, this longing. I will always wish things were different. But I will keep going, even when I don't think I can. Even when I don't want to.

I have to remember that happiness is 98 percent perspective.  I have to remember that if I believe I will be ok, that if I am patient with myself and hopeful for the future and accepting of my own faults and mindful of my strengths... I WILL be ok. My children will be ok. They will see their mother heartbroken and struggling... and they will see her pick herself up and turn coal into diamonds. They will have a mother who loves herself and believes in herself.

And this will teach them to love themselves... in the face of adversity, in spite of pain, in the chaos of grief. They will know that life can dish out what it will... and they can still be happy. I want them to have compassion,  for themselves and for others. To acknowledge that everyone they meet is fighting a battle of some sort. I want them to have passion. To be tender with themselves and with others. To be whole, all on thier own. To realize that contentment comes from within... it cannot be attained through money, power, prestige or (and maybe especially) the love of another. I want them to be fully aware of thier own worth.

But today, I mostly want them to clean up after themselves. ;)

Crumble

I wish I was made of ice. Completely self sufficient, no doubt, no games, just confident & secure in myself. Powerful.

Because that is who I am... Who I've always been. I learned the hard way not to let anyone else become the source of my happiness. To man up and take care of my own shit. To take what I want and not expect anything.

And to love someone,  to open up and soften. To let my walls down. To let it hurt and to go on living. To reimagine the fairytale that does not exist. To let go of perfection and to be ok with the work in progress that comes with being human.  

And then my world shattered. Would it have been easier to never take the risk? Taken the safe, sane path and avoid the intensity of all this pain... Yes, for sure. Would I take the easy way if I had to do it again? Hell no. I wouldn't give up what I have for anything. But the fallout? It is fucking brutal. It has taken every moment of peace from me, sheared away my confidence, my certainty, my clarity and laid my soul bare. Knocked the wind out of my sails and made me question my sanity.

I barely know who I am anymore. I can't eat, can't sleep, seek out anything that will numb the pain. I exist in a cave of sadness, fumbling to find my way out of the dark. Occasionally glimpsing some light and getting knocked back on my ass with every step forward. I need something,  but I don't know what. I want relief and know at the same time there is no cure. There will be a part of me that will remain damaged no matter what I do. I want desperately to heal, but these wounds might be too deep. How can I ever go back to what I was? All of my hard earned confidence, all of my pride is destroyed. How can I ever be carefree and hopefull ever again?  I've had to do things that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I keep secrets that will never see the light of day. And I know about the power of secrets. I know how they fester, how they can tear a person apart from thethe inside out. But I have no choice.  

Do I build my walls back up? Do I become hard, let my broken bones knit together awkwardly? Let scar tissue form over my heart, tough and impenetrable? Do I get a choice at all?  

Life is short. And cruel and unfair and filled with pain. And mind bogglingly boring and routine. And amazingly beautiful, filled with promise and hope and laughter. And Love, in all its many forms.  

Maybe the trick is to never plan, never think about the future at all. To drift and let the wind take us where it will. But I don't really believe that and it's not something I can surrender to gracefully. I need to know what's what. I cannot, especially now, handle ambiguity. I have to know where I stand... even if the only thing to know is that I am on shaky ground. I need constant reassurance that I am ok, that I am cared for and loved. Because this? This is the loneliest I have ever been. This is the most alien I have ever felt. I'm a giant raw nerve, exposed and naked. Incredibly vulnerable.

I HATE being vulnerable. I HATE that my center is now outside of myself and I don't know how to get it back. I HATE how needy, anxious and pathetic I feel on a daily basis.   I HATE that I am no longer me. Trapped in a sphere of pain. No end in sight.

No positive insights today folks. No being brave and faking strength. It's too much. I can't pretend.