THAT Guy... THE Guy (?)... I guess not

How many times can I do this? Dating. I don't understand WHY it has to be so hard at this age!!! I have been "dating" on and off since I ended my relationship with Anthony almost a year ago. In that year I have met a handful of guys, I have talked to a lot more, but it never goes anywhere and the conversation eventually just tapers off. I went out with three of them a few times each. Two disappeared (ghosted) without a trace (I found out later that one of them does this habitually to women, it is just beyond my comprehension how you could so easily treat someone like that) and one said he "couldn't give me the time and attention I deserve", I had a couple of "meet and greets" there was just no connection... but the last one... all I can say is WOW... I felt like I had finally met THAT guy... maybe even THE guy...

He messaged me on a dating site on July 4th. I took one look at his smile and knew I had to reply... then I read his profile and I DEFINITELY had to reply. Self employed, flips houses, dad... He said he wanted to know more, I said "you had me at flips houses". We messaged back and forth all day and later that night he gave me his phone number. I rarely give mine out that quickly, but this time I did. He asked if he could call me and we proceeded to talk for over two hours, I think it was 1 am by the time we hung up. That 2 hours went by quickly. There was never a lapse in our conversation or an uncomfortable silence. Before we hung up he asked me if I would like to meet, I said yes and we planned on meeting the next day. I went to bed with a smile on my face that night. This felt different then other men I have talked to. In the course of those two hours we talked about our families (he has 4 kids too and their ages are not a lot different than mine) our pets (he has a dog named Ivy too) our careers, which go hand in hand and past relationships. We definitely have a lot in common.

We met in Lake Geneva (he lives in IL, 2 hours from me) for a late dinner the next day. Again, the conversation flowed as though we had known each other for much longer than a day. After dinner we went to the lake, he had brought chairs with him so we sat in those and talked some more. At the end of the night he gave me an "air hug" because we were both dealing with kids that had been exposed to Covid (both tested negative, but we didn't know that at that time) and we said good night.

The next two weeks consisted of us talking every day for hours. We rarely texted and it was SO NICE to be able to get to know someone this way. He was attentive and often called me just to see what I was doing. At some point during the second week I asked him when I was going to see him again, his response "not soon enough". We met in Lake Geneva again and hung out in a small bar all night. I watched him play pool and we talked all night. It was not the most romantic second date, but it was relaxing and fun. He walked me to my car and when he kissed me good night I have to admit that the thought ran through my head that if that was my last first kiss I was ok with that. He smiled at me and said "you're going to be thinking about that kiss all the way home". He wasn't wrong... As he walked away he turned back to look at me over his shoulder and smiled. I drove home telling myself not to fall for him... but even as I talked to myself I knew that it was too late, I was already there.

The next day I texted him and said I was still thinking about that kiss... no response. I called him that afternoon, he didn't answer. That all too familiar feeling of being ghosted was creeping in and I was pushing it away as hard as I could (that is what happens when guys decide that it is easier to just disappear then to TELL you they aren't interested. It makes it SO hard to trust the next guy) he finally texted me and said that he couldn't stop thinking about how I had been on the dating site we met on, talking to other guys WHILE we were on our date! Wait... WHAT?!? No. I wasn't. I finally met a guy that seemed to check ALL of the boxes and he thought I was talking to other men. Not only was I NOT talking to anyone else (I did answer one text that night and that is what he saw) I had told everyone that I was talking to that I had met someone and I wanted to see where that was going. I hid my profile so I would stop getting messages. I even cancelled a date I had set up earlier in the week because I didn't feel right about meeting anyone else. I tried to call him, he wouldn't answer. I texted him, he responded but it was clear that he had made up his mind. In two short weeks I felt more potential for something real than I have ever felt with anyone since Brian died. I've felt potential before, but this was different, VERY different. 

It has been almost 2 weeks since I have heard from him. I have sent him a couple of texts trying to open that communication up again, but he has not responded. Even though this is over, I deleted my dating profile. I just do not want to meet anyone else. I met someone that I really wanted to get to know, a guy that when I told my daughter a little about him said "Mom! He is YOU in male form" LOL. This one stings, I saw something different and a lot of what I have been looking for in a man. We had a connection, I KNOW it was not one sided...There has not been a day in the last two weeks that I have not thought about him. Every day I hope that my phone rings with the ringtone I have just for him... but it doesn't. Today was particularly hard though. This morning that image of him looking over his shoulder at me as he walked away popped into my head. It brought tears to my eyes, and for the rest of the day I was on the verge of tears. I finally went to a park by a lake to watch the sunset and let myself cry. Tears for the hurt this has caused. Tears for the "alone" feeling I have. Tears for realization that I may NEVER find THAT guy. Tears simply because I REALLY like this one... My friends tell me that it is his loss, but I feel like we are both losing out on something that could be amazing and it makes me sad.

As I left the park tonight there was an elderly couple sitting in lawn chairs watching the sunset. I thought how lucky they are to have each other. I want that. After all I have been through I DESERVE that. Brian wanted that for me. I want something just like this was starting to be...

😢😢😢😢

 

 

"Alone"

The winding path of widowhood is never ending. Brian's death 8 years and 8 months ago put me on this path that I will be on in one way or another for the rest of my life. The one thing that never even crossed my mind 8 years and 8 months ago is that I would still be on this path "alone". When I say I alone, I don't mean that literally, I have four beautiful kids that have been my sidekicks on this journey. I have parents that have been here for me every step of the way. I have friends that I cherish beyond measure. When I say "alone" I mean that I never thought that I would be single over 8 years after Brian died.

Before Brian was diagnosed with his cancer he was at a pre-op appointment with my dad. We knew he had pancreas cancer, but every test that had been done up to that point had not come back with cancer cells. They couldn't treat what they didn't know, so he had to have laparoscopic surgery to type his cancer. My dad went with him for support because he didn't want to be alone.  He told my dad that day that if he died from this that he wanted me to find someone that would love me and love my kids as much as he did. He told my dad that it was his job to make sure that I NEVER felt guilty about doing that. There sat my 38 year old husband, knowing the likelihood of him dying from this was extremely high and he was thinking about ME and MY future happiness. At some point during our cancer journey he told me the same thing. He told me that he wanted me to find someone to be in my life. He said that I was too beautiful of a person to spend my life alone. He will never know what an incredible gift those words were.

I have been in two relationships since he died. The first was a colossal mistake, one made by a widow that had zero idea how to date and had no thought that people could be so awful. It was an abusive relationship, not physically, and not emotionally in the typical way, but he was narcissistic and manipulative and he drew me in in a way that even when I wanted to be out of the relationship I didn't know how. The only good thing that came of that relationship was that I learned that I had the capacity and the ability to love someone besides Brian. That was a powerful thing.

Relationship number two started out much more cautiously. It took me a long time to let him in. One day I realized that I was holding back and I finally gave in to the feelings. I loved him. I thought I would marry him, but he just never seemed to be what I needed. At first he was, but then at one point it just changed. He stopped helping around the house. He didn't spend a lot of time with me. I kept waiting and hoping for things to get better and they just didn't. I finally ended that relationship just over 3 years into it. That sent him into "self correction" mode and he started doing things to improve his life. I chose to give him another chance a few months later, but, for me it was too late. I was going through the motions but the feelings were different. I wanted more for my life than I was getting, so I ended it again in August of last year.

Dating since then has been... ugly. I do not have a job that I go to every day, I don't go to church or belong to any clubs or organizations. There is not a lot of opportunity in my life to meet men... so, online "dating" it is... Online dating does not really include much "dating". It includes a lot of talking that never leads anywhere. I've met 3 men in the last 7 months, 2 of which disappeared without a trace (known as ghosting in the dating world) after 3 and 4 dates, and let me tell you, that SUCKS! It fills you with self doubt and makes you question what you did wrong... when in reality it is an immature move by someone who would rather take the easy way  (for THEM) out.

Recently I started talking to someone who is widowed, someone I have had some very in depth conversations with about life, death, love and widowhood. It has been open, honest and real. I wanted to meet him... but... we are not in the same place. He says that he is broken, that he doesn't know if he will ever be able to be with someone else again and that I can do better. I said "maybe... maybe not"... but, I guess we will never know. I understand that feeling all too well, but I know that our hearts are capable of loving again... if we let it. I didn't meet him, and I can't help but feel disappointed that I won't get the chance to. Unfortunately this is an all too familiar feeling.

8 years and 8 months. It feels like forever and yesterday all at once. The longer I remain "alone" the more I get the feeling that maybe Brian was my one and only chance. I've always thought that Brian was the first love of my life... but I'm starting to wonder if maybe he was the only love I will ever truly have (que tears at the thought of this). Maybe I am broken too. Maybe it just isn't meant to be. I try to remain optimistic and hopeful, but the hurt that comes along with "dating" can easily drag someone with a huge heart down.

Brian's words echo in my head... "You are too beautiful of a person to spend your life alone." It hurts, and I don't like it, but I know that there is nothing I can do if someone is not willing to take the steps, do the work, or take the chance. So, for now... and for the foreseeable future... I will continue to wind down this path of widowhood "alone"...

7 years... and another first...

It is a hard time of year... the "countdown" to the 7th anniversary of Brian's death has begun. My body knew it before I did. I'm tired, sad, and just not myself. As stupid as it is to say, I wish Brian had NOT died over Labor Day weekend. Not that there is a good time, and it goes without saying that I wish he hadn't died AT ALL... but he did. The beginning of school is also around Labor Day. Each school year brings excitement for what is to come and sadness for what was, all at once. It is not an easy balance. This year it brought something new, something that I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around. Something I didn't want to happen. Something I wasn't ready for. Something that has me crying non-stop... Hannah, my first born, my high school graduate, my college Freshman has moved out. I feel more broken now than I have in a long time...

I should be happy and proud that I have raised a daughter that is independent, mature, and is working hard for what she wants. I AM happy and proud, but, I am also devastated that she is gone. I literally can't stop crying. I've watched on Facebook as her friends parents are dropping their kids off at colleges hours away and I have NO idea how they are doing it. Hannah is going to school in Madison, and her apartment is no more than 20 minutes away. Still, not having her HERE is incredibly painful. More so than I would have imagined. My heart hurts in a way that I didn't expect.

Hannah was born on Feb 5, 2000. She was born on my grandpa's birthday and named after my grandma. She was my third pregnancy and first born. I had her name picked out long before she was a true thought, and I bought her nursery bedding years before she was born. For as long as I can remember I wanted nothing more than to be a wife and a mother, so Hannah was my dream come true. After she was born I would hold her for hours...
         

I never wanted to put her down, and this is a lot like that. I wasn't (am not) ready to let her go, but, this is what she wants. Hannah is mature beyond her years and has been for a long time. Losing your dad at the age of 11, after watching him die from cancer will do that to a kid. I'm IMMENSELY proud of who she is and I know that because of who she is she will be able to accomplish whatever she sets her mind to. She is like her dad that way. I always knew that Hannah would be my child to spread her wings and fly, not because she is the oldest, but because of her drive and determination. Again, she gets that from her dad.


This morning as I was texting with my best friend Jane and telling her how broken I feel she said this: "Things are changing and they are going to keep changing because that's how life is. It doesn't have to be a bad thing though. Kids grow up and have to go out on their own. I know your heart is breaking, but it is what Hannah wants. She is happy to be moving out. So... you just have to support her and try to be ok with this. And you will be in time. You just have to get used to her being gone. She's not gone forever like Brian. Hannah is still here. She's just minutes away from you. She's not in another state. You gave her the wings to fly... now you have to let her use them. It will be ok. It won't be the same, but it will be ok." True words from one widowed mother to another. I know she is right, but I can't help but wonder how this would feel if Brian were alive and well. I know it would still be hard, but I suspect it wouldn't feel like as big of a loss.

Fly my little dragonfly, go far in this big beautiful world. Just know that home is where your heart is, and YOU are my heart. You have been my constant companion on my winding path of widowhood and I made it to the sunny place in part because of you. I love you Hannah Kathryn.

The Only One...

You know, I'm tired. Physically and mentally tired. It has been almost 6 years since Brian died. 6 years. I remember feeling like time just stopped 6 years ago... I have no idea how I made it to this point, but I did... and I'm tired.  One of the hardest thing about being widowed is instantly becoming an only parent. Not a single parent... an only parent, and it is exhausting. Having to make Every. Single. Decision... by myself. Knowing that if I screw something up there is no co-parent to help fix it. Keeping track of appointments, school schedules, weekend activities and every other coming and going of four kids is a lot to do. On a regular basis I feel like a failure as a parent because I wasn't there for this kid or didn't get something done for that kid. It happens... a LOT more than I would like to admit.

Tonight was one of those moments and it had me in internal tears, I felt like my soul was screaming for help and, right or wrong, I was angry that Brian is dead. As I sat with all four of my kids, having a discussion that I have had with them umpteen times just this summer alone, I felt that feeling of despair creep in. I just want a clean house. I'm not asking for a miracle (though I guess that is relative, if you saw my house you may think I am asking for a miracle!) I just simply want my house to not constantly look like a tornado has gone through it. The mess stresses me out more than I want to admit.  It blocks me from doing things I want to do and stops me from doing things I need to do. It creates an inactivity and anxiety within me that I can't seem to overcome. So, as I'm having this conversation AGAIN about how I need HELP to get the house clean, most of what I get back is static and bickering between them. This, I will admit sends me over the edge and my anxiety level reaches a point where I feel like I can't breathe... and again I am overcome with the fact that I am alone in this thing called parenting.  How being alone makes me feel guilty I because I can't provide the things for my kids that I want to. How I struggle financially to make ends meet and  still make sure that everyone has what they need. Guilt because I can't be everything for everyone. All of this guilt because something happened to our family that I had no control over.

This conversation led to my oldest daughter telling me how stressed out she is about going to college. How she wants OUT of our house because she can't stand being here, with us. How she feels like her grades aren't good enough to get into a good college, and even if they were we have no money for her to go to college. She brought up how we JUST had her tested for a learning disability (which she has, the same as her dad) and I STILL haven't contacted the school psychologist to help her get accommodations for the ACT test... and I think to myself how I failed her. How I should have gotten her tested sooner. How I should have already contacted the school psychologist. How SAD I am that she hates it here so much... how I screwed up and I can't fix it. I know that if Brian were alive he would have had this stuff done. He knew she was like him, he would not have let her struggle and in my grief and my aloneness I failed her... and all of this came about because I just simply asked for help to get and keep our house clean. It hurts to feel like I have not done everything I could as a parent, even though I know I have done the best I could given the circumstances.

I'm thinking that part of it is the time of year, no matter how long it has been the memories of 6 years ago creep in, and those memories are hard and painful. Unfortunately, I'm not the only one who hurts. My kids hurt too and it comes out in different ways. Today it came out in anger, fear and frustration all directed towards me (because, you know, they can't yell at their dad because he's not here!) and making me feel like my best isn't even close to good enough. It is really hard to be an only parent...

So tonight, as I wind my way through a darker part of my path of widowhood, I am still wallowing in self pity and wishing I could do more for my kids to make their life feel safer and more complete. I have to say, widowhood is NOT for sissys, and no matter how long it has been these moments of incredible self doubt and sadness creep in and sit for a while, and given that the anniversary of Brian's death is less than two weeks away I'm sure this feeling will unfortunately linger.  I used to think that my winding path of widowhood would eventually come to an end, however in the last almost 6 years I have come to realize that it will NEVER end. I will grieve Brian for as long as he is dead. Grief. It is the price we pay for love...

Cancer... Me??

November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness month.
It is also Lung Cancer Awareness month.
It is ALSO the time of year that I get my annual mammogram.

Though the recommendation is to have a mammogram once every two years, my Doctor has them done yearly for me. Not because there is anything that is being "watched" but because she is sensitive to the fact that my husband died from Pancreatic Cancer. So, Monday I had my annual screening... and Tuesday I got a phone call saying that the radiologist wanted additional views, so an appointment was set for today (Friday). The morning didn't go great. My van is in having the rear brakes replaced, I couldn't find a ride so I had to drive my convertible. Mind you it is NOVEMBER in WISCONSIN and though the weather is unseasonably mild, it was still only in the 40's. Which means the top on my convertible, is cold... and hard... and wouldn't go up. So, I wore a winter coat, gloves and a hat and was thankful there was no wind or rain and drove to my follow up appointment... in my convertible (her name is Tink, in case you're wondering).

I get there, change into the beautiful pink kimono thing they have you wear and wait for my screening. Once in the room, the technician tells me that if needed I will have an ultrasound following the mammogram. Ok... but I'm not concerned and I'm not going to need that...

When we are done, she says that she is going to show the images to the radiologist, but she thinks he will want an ultrasound. Wait... WHAT?!? He did in fact want an ultrasound, so I'm told to get my things out of the locker they were in because I will not be coming back to this area. I do that, sit down in the waiting room, and text my best friend Jane "Talk me off of my ledge. This might not be nothing" that is the point that it hit me. Cancer. The possibility of breast cancer, the possibility of ME having breast cancer. Tears started to trickle down my cheek. Then as that thought sunk in the tears became actual crying... the technician saw me crying, sat down and asked me what was wrong. All I could get out was "my husband died of cancer" at which point the crying became uncontrollable sobs. My kids. My four beautiful kids who have already been through SO much. NO! This HAS|to be all right... for them. I'm an only parent. I'm crazy busy because I do it all alone. HOW will I be able to do this alone? Brian had me... I have... I have friends, I have family, I even have a boyfriend who loves me, but none of those people live with me. I can honestly say that in that moment I felt very, VERY alone.

I can not put into words the paralyzing fear. Because of my experience, the thought of having cancer is 1000 times worse. The anxiety, sadness, confusion and fear all rolled into a huge lump in my throat and uncontrollable sobs. I was immediately escorted into a nurses office. Her name was Lara, and she was amazing. When they were ready for my ultrasound she walked with me down there, and she stayed outside the door until it was done. The conclusion? Dense tissue that was easier to see because of my recent weight loss. Nothing suspicious. I don't have cancer. But that fear is still hanging on. I know I'm fine, but that FEELING has left me drained. I've ridden this roller coaster before and I don't EVER want to do it again. I went into that room sobbing and came out telling them how I had frozen my butt off driving Tink there and by the time I left I was laughing. Lara walked me out and hugged me goodbye. I'm still reeling, my head hurts, but I'm ok. Thankfully, I'm ok. Now, I just need to get my aforementioned boyfriend to quit smoking so that I never have to recognize November for lung cancer awareness month... oh, and so I can stay OFF of the cancer roller coaster.

This was definitely a sharp turn on my winding path of widowhood. One that I hope never to repeat!

3 - 2 - 1.....

The countdown is on. I can feel "it" coming. The memories from 5 years ago are creeping in, like a dark fog swirling around my legs trying to trip me and take me down. The problem is... it's working. I'm moody and short tempered. I cry at pretty much anything. I'm trying to hold it together, but those memories, the bad ones, are creeping in.

5 years ago was the "beginning of the end" for us. I know that a lot of people saw the end coming loooooong before we did. In fact, at one point someone very close to me said "When Brian dies..." and I corrected him and said "if"... he then said "No honey, it's when at this point". He said it as gently as he could, but even then I didn't believe it. I wasn't ready to give up on hope. I knew if I did that Brian would too, and then it really WOULD be "when".

About 5 years ago Brian fell in our room (I'm sure that in a few short days a "memory" will pop up on Facebook and remind me of the exact date, but at this point I don't remember it, which might be a good thing) he was taken to the hospital in an ambulance... and he never came home again. THAT was OUR beginning of the end. I don't know if I've ever written about that day, the day he fell, the day that is haunting me at the moment. We kept a lot of what was going on at that time very private. Brian's cancer had spread to his brain, and the brain tumors were causing problems, including the loss of the use of his left side. He had a hard time walking, so we finally got a wheelchair for him. The morning he fell he had gotten up and made his way to the bathroom. Shortly after he realized he had to go again. I went and got the wheelchair for him. I told him I would take him to the bathroom and come get him when he was done. He was mad. He was frustrated. He grabbed the arm of that wheelchair and FLUNG himself at it. He missed, and instead he hit the wall, HARD and then the floor. Two things happened at that moment. First, he had a brain bleed, second, he fractured his neck... (come to find out later that he had a tumor in his neck vertebra that had weakened the bone)... and he was in instant, horrible pain. The fear in that moment was unreal. I wasn't ready for him to be gone in an instant. I wasn't ready for him to be gone at all.

It was early morning, the kids were all home. I don't even remember who came over to watch them that day. In the hospital, once he had a room, we were told that if the brain bleed didn't stop he wouldn't make it through the night. There was nothing they could do to stop it, it either stopped on it's own or he died. The bleeding stopped... but, the decline from that moment was hard. 7 weeks. He was in the hospital for 3 weeks, improved to the point where he was transferred to a rehab facility, was there a couple of weeks... had another (worse) brain bleed... went back to the hospital... and then... Hospice. 7 weeks. I don't even know how I made it through those 7 weeks. Our kids were all over the place. I never knew where they would be or who I could ask to take them. I was never home, or so it seemed.

The memory of the day he fell is one of my hardest, most painful memories. To see his anger and frustration and then to be MAD at him (yeah, I said it!) for not being CAREFUL. For not just standing up, getting in the wheelchair and letting me help him. That day haunts me... the "what if" for that moment will forever be in my mind. Would he still be here? No. But would his final weeks have been less painful? His death deferred? Maybe... but I'll never know. That's the black fog swirling around my ankles, the memory of that day. The day that starts the countdown to the day he died... Almost 5. Years. Ago. 

Almost 5 years have gone by, yet, I find that my path through widowhood still has some twists, turns and dark forests... I am still very much winding my way through widowhood...

Pictures....

Yesterday the kids and I tromped through a tree farm to find the perfect Christmas tree. It is the first time we have done this since Brian died.

Last year, one of my my daughters said "We don't have enough pictures of Dad on our tree!" So, being the mom that I am I went out and bought an ornament to put his picture in. Here I am sifting through a drawer full of pictures... a drawer full of memories to find the perfect one. Then it hits me... AGAIN... that there will never again be a chance to take a perfect picture of him. All we have is a drawer full of pictures and the memories in our heads. How I wish I could take those memories and make them into reality.

Reality of a beautiful life. A life gone much too soon. A life that left those of us who love him with nothing more than pictures in a drawer and memories in our heads. I wish I could freeze those memories and print them so we wouldn't forget... because the truth is, memories fade. Brian is part of our "what was" and will never be a part of our "what will be". Pictures help to keep those memories alive, but it is so hard when looking for that "perfect" picture to know that we have a finite amount of them...

Christmas and the holiday season is hard. Though the weight of Brian's absence is never gone, it is especially heavy at this time of year. As our family makes new memories he is here in spirit. Yesterday as we traipsed through the tree farm looking for that perfect tree, I told the kids stories of some of the tree hunts that Brian did together. They laughed at some of them and I hope that I was able to weave a little bit more of Brian into their memories of this Christmas.

As my winding path of widowhood journeyed through the tree farm yesterday and memories of Christmases past, we also created new memories as we found the perfect tree... and on that perfect tree will be a new ornament showing our never ending love for him... long live love...

Do what you need to do.....

Do what you need to do.....That is what he said to me.  In my dream this morning.  I don't usually dream of Brian, and when I do it is usually a dream where he is still alive (or maybe he has died and come back, I can never tell) and I am begging him to do something that will help him not to die.  I wake up from those dreams feeling like I should have done more.  Maybe if I had pushed harder he would still be here....This was not that kind of dream.  There have been so many changes lately, big changes.  Being alone and not part of a couple for the first time since I was 15 for one.  I am still getting used to being an only parent and we are trying to settle into some kind of normal.  Now, selling the practice.  That's a big one.  Though I am thankful for the fact that it is sold I am still so very upset at how it happened.  I can tell you without hesitation that Brian NEVER no matter WHAT the circumstances would have done what Dr. C did.  His ethics and his morals would have prevented him from picking up and moving the way she did.  I am trying not to let that get to me, but it does, and because of her actions I had to sell the practice for a lot less than I was originally asking.  The new owners have been into the clinic and are moving things around.  My front office person called me and said she wondered if this was upsetting Brian, is he ok with this?  Yes, he is.  I know because he told me this morning......

In my dream I was telling him about the changes and telling him how each room was going to be used.  I asked him what he thought, and he said that they needed to make it work for them, and that is ok with him.  I told him that yesterday we discovered that our first tenant, a hair salon owner, had cut the power supply to the outside light that they had mounted on our building to illuminate her sign.  They left the ugly light out there, but literally cut the power cord to it so that it could not be used.  Classy, huh?  I asked Brian if he knew that, he said no, but it didn't surprise him.  He was shaking his head and smiling as he said this as if to say "some people...."

After that I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his neck.  I could actually smell him and feel the warmth of his skin on my face.  I could hear his voice soothing me.  He held me tight and I cried.  He told me to do what I needed to do, that he was right there, and if I needed to cry to do that.  He told me that he would always be there.  I could feel him, I could smell him, I could hear him.  It was SO REAL.  I woke myself up because I was sobbing in my sleep.  I wanted to stay asleep, I wanted to stay with him, but I couldn't.  I couldn't stay in the one place where for the first time in 6 months I felt safe and loved.  Today I am full of tears and loneliness.  I feel the despair of being a widow.  I HATE being a widow.   I hate that Brian had to die.  I hate the fact that I have been thrown into this world of loneliness, sadness and uncertainty. 

If I close my eyes I can still picture my face cuddled into his neck, I can still imagine his arms wrapped around me and me clinging to him.  I miss my Brian.  I miss the life we were supposed to have.  Today my winding path of widowhood has become a steep hill, plunging me into who knows what.  I will hold onto Brian's words though, "Do what you need to do" I believe that while they were spoken at a specific moment they have much greater meaning.  I believe that he is giving me permission to move forward.  I know this is something that was, and apparently still is, important to him, and I am trying, I am REALLY trying, but it is hard.  "Do what you need to do"  I will Brian, I promise I will.

The widow bubble

I have been in a bubble for months.  I feel like I am watching as all of my friends move on with their lives and the death of my husband no longer has the impact on them that it did.  The bubble keeps them from seeing the pain that I am in.  Sometimes I can break through and for brief moments I am truly happy, maybe even laughing some.  It doesn't take long though and I am back inside the bubble.  The bubble has carried me through the last 21 weeks without Brian.  The widow bubble has protected me.  It has allowed some of the sharp edges of reality to not sting so much.  It allows me a view of what is out there while keeping me safe. 

Some days though just aren't right.  My kids will talk to me and I look and them and say "Wait...What?"  They will repeat it and I still won't understand what they are trying to say.  Those are the days that the widow bubble is not clear, but foggy.  It clouds my perceptions.  I have found that on those days I should not even be driving, so I stay home.  Thankfully, the foggy bubble pertains to just certain moments and is not a constant, or even that often for that matter.

Sometimes the bubble makes me feel as though I am moving in slow motion.  I will have all kinds of goals set for my day and on many days not even one of those goals is completed.  I can't seem to get anything done.  It's days like these that I want out of the bubble, but that is scary too.  What if once the bubble is gone the pain of Brian's death is overwhelming?  It already hurts so much that I can't imagine it getting any worse.  While the bubble is there it has not hidden me from the reality of Brian's death.  It has not kept the pain or the tears away. 

The bubble is between me and life. Though I'm sure it is a necessity to have, sometimes I feel trapped.  I want more moments of true happiness.  I want to laugh again.  I want to be out of the bubble and feel like me again.  I want to live my life, though it is not the life I planned with Brian by my side.  As my life moves forward I suspect that the bubble will dissipate and one day I will realize that it is gone.  Until then, if you hear me say, "Wait....What?" you'll know the bubble is foggy that day and that maybe I need a hug.

The "W" word......

I am a widow.  I know, big surprise, my secret is out!  I was chatting online today with another widow.  A woman who lost her husband to pancreatic cancer as well, 10 months before we lost Brian.  In our conversation, the word "widow" came up.  She exclaimed that she HATES that word.  In fact, I have heard this statement from a number of widows.  I don't hate the word widow.  Don't get me wrong, I hate BEING a widow, but I don't hate the word widow. 

When you tell others that you are a widow, it is interesting to see their reaction.  Some people are uncomfortable and gloss over it as though I just said "It's raining outside".  Others get a tear in their eye and tell me how sorry they are.  Some ask how I am, and they truly want to know, they ask about the kids, they ask if we need anything.  Widow.  It is a strong word and it floods people with emotion. 

Widow is not a bad word.  To me the word widow tells others that I am not single by choice, but by circumstance.  We were married for 18 years, and though technically I am single, I certainly don't FEEL single.  I would never check the "single" box on a form.  That would feel as though I was erasing a part of Brian and a part of who I am.   The word widow lets others know that I was loved and that I loved.  The last night that Brian was awake I whispered in his ear "I love you"  he said "I know" I smiled and said "I know you do" then he whispered back "I love you".  It was the last thing that Brian ever said to me.   

I am a widow, I am not single by choice and I was loved by my husband.

All I want for Christmas....

Well, that is pretty obvious, and it is equally obvious that I won't get it. 

This season has me thinking of all the years we spent together, all the Christmases together.  I remember the very first one, we had been dating less than a month and I got a phone call from a mutual friend who told me that Brian had bought me a Christmas present.  So, there I was on Christmas Eve, out shopping to buy this guy that I hardly knew something for Christmas.  I bought him a shirt....the funny thing was, he bought me a shirt too!  One that I had pointed out at the mall when we were shopping one time and mentioned that I liked it.  That was Brian, always remembering things I noticed.  He would buy me things that I would casually mention that I would like to have.  He always tucked it away and at Christmas time, there were things I didn't even realize I wanted and/or needed under the tree. 

One year I broke my tree topper, the one from my childhood and I was devastated.  That same year, Brian bought me an angel for the top of our tree.  It was a Madame Alexander doll, which I collected.  He wrote me a card and told me that he wouldn't have made it through that year (he was a student at Palmer College of Chiropractic at the time) without me.  He said to "look up" that my Christmas present was so special I couldn't miss it.  There she was on the top of my parents tree.  I keep that precious card in the box with her and read it every year.

As years went by, and finances got tighter he became a little bit more of a Grinch at Christmas, not totally green, mind you, but more careful.  One year I bought him a Grinch stuffed doll, I laughed hysterically when he opened it, he didn't think it was so funny.......Last year I remember being in the car with the kids and the Grinch song came on, I said "Listen kids!  It's dad's theme song!" and giggled.  Again, he wasn't laughing, but he did smile a little......  I know that in the years after his cancer diagnosis that he was even more careful at Christmas time, always telling me to not buy the kids as many things (yes, I do tend to go overboard!) but I couldn't help it!  I mean, c'mon, our four kids were dealing with something that no child should ever have to deal with, so I over compensated.  This year I again went all out, but I have to admit, as I was checking out with my loot at Walmart the other night I had tears in my eyes and could barely talk.  I could just hear Brian "They don't need all that stuff, how MUCH are you spending?!?"  I seriously wish he were here to chastise me for it, but he isn't, so I am again over compensating! 

While Christmas was not Brian's favorite holiday, mostly because of the amount of money spent, every year since his diagnosis he made it his goal to be here for the next one.  This summer, a few weeks before he died, he had a brain bleed and was talking incoherently.  Though there was not a lot that we could understand, the one word we COULD understand was Christmas, Christmas, Christmas.  He knew he wanted to be here for it.  I am so sad that he is not.

I know this year as I put my beautiful angel on her perch there will be tears in my eyes.  I know that as I wind the ribbons that flow from beneath her around the tree that I will think of Christmases past with both joy and sadness.  Those ribbons will wind around all of the memories that are hung on the tree.  Our First Christmas Together ornament, Santa Fred, picture ornaments of our babies, pictures of our family cutting down our Christmas trees and the one I made tonight, an ornament with the year 2011 on the bottom of it and on top of it an angel dressed in blue, praying, with a picture of Brian in it.  This Christmas those ribbons are as symbolic as they are decorative.  They will not only wind through my past with Brian, but this year there will be new ornaments added to the tree, and the ribbons will wind around those new memories as well.  I hope as those ribbons wind their way down the tree that we are able to smile, even laugh at the memories they pass.  I hope that as we wind our way through our first Christmas without Brian that the day is not remembered as a completely sad day, but one that we filled with laughter and love for one another.  That is what Brian would want. 

Three LONG months

It has been just over three months since my best friend, my husband, took his last breath.  Three LONG months.  It has been three months of figuring out how to "go it alone".  Three months of being an only parent to four kids.  Three months of trying to figure out what to do with his things.  Three months of loneliness. 

I find that I don't really dream about Brian, though when I do I'm not sure it is a good thing.  I wake up longing for the life we were supposed to have.  I wake up missing him more, though sometimes I feel less alone if he has visited me in my dreams....  The funny thing is, when I dream of him, he isn't necessarily healthy, but in the dreams we have more TIME to work with.  TIME to make him healthy.  I guess it is my subconscious feeling guilty about not doing more, though anyone you talk to will tell you I did EVERYTHING possible to try and save him.

I miss my Brian.  Last week we would have been together for 25 years.  25 years, well over half of my life.  I started dating Brian when I was 17 and from that point forward, there was never anyone else.  We "grew up" together, became adults together, did all of our significant "firsts" together.  We brought four beautiful babies into this world together.  25 years is a pretty significant chunk of time, though it amazes me to think that there is the possibility that I will spend more of my life with someone else......I wonder how THAT works when we get to Heaven?  The last 25 years has molded me into who I am today....though on this particular day, I'm not sure WHO that is.  Brian taught me to be strong and independent, the strength I appreciate, the need for being independent I'm not so thrilled about......

Three months.  A point where I find that the tears are no longer constant.  A time where I am starting to feel more like "me".  What is it I have been told a thousand times in the last three months?  Oh yea, "Time heals all wounds".  Though if you talk to a WIDOW they see it differently.  The wound never heals, it just hurts less.  Three months without Brian is a drop in the bucket compared to the last 25 years of life with him.  The pain is unreal, for me and our children.  We miss him, and we will miss him for a long time, probably for the rest of our lives.  We are trying to heal, trying to "re-frame" our family structure.  Three months feels like forever, but in reality we are only at the beginning of this journey.  I hope as I wind my way through widowhood that I find peace, happiness and love along the way.