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.

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.