10 months and counting....

 When death brushes your soul, it reminds you that you are finite too. 

At 20,30,40, and so on, I was invincible as was my husband. We never thought much of the future and the old age thing. That was for someone else to worry about.

It has been 10 months to the day today since Rich died.  

I'd been busy socially and physically. Children, family, friends, the gym, riding, and phone calls from others that made me feel alive and I realized after a few days that I hadn't felt sorrow.

I sat on the porch with the dogs and watched the evening show of fireflies and I was perplexed. How on earth could I be feeling so happy? I almost felt guilty for listening the quiet music of the night coming in. 

I searched my brain. Nope. I didn't feel sad. In fact I hadn't thought about 'him' in a few days. I turned to the dogs. "Hey guys, I'm not sad today. I haven't been sad for a few days. I feel normal."

Hannah looked up from her chew bone and thumped her tail. Charlie sighed and found a more comfortable spot to recline on the bench.

"I'm sorry Rich, I've had an amazing Happy Week. Is that okay?" I whispered into the night air. "I'm sorry, I've been very happy and content this week. It feels so strange."

How long does the black cloud hang overhead?
How can I feel so clear?
Is this bad?
Is this good?

They say Grief can hit you in strange ways, a feeling,  something you see, something you hear, something you smell. There is no rhythm or reason to it.

Yep, I was hurtling along on the path to "I'm really quite okay right now."

At the gym, it was Country Music day during the workout.

I just finished a fantastic workout, sweating buckets of salt water. Coach told us to stretch out and ease the muscles we'd just beaten up.

An oldy came on the speakers.

I felt my throat close, the world dim, and fall apart.

I held it together until I got home.

WTH? 
We all know that sometimes a song will come on the radio and we will recall the memories associated by that.

Our Song.
OUR

S O N G

the song we played at our impromptu wedding.

James Bonamy 1996

I Don't Think I Will....

Hold it right there
Don't say a word
I hear a voice I've never heard
Calling my name
Saying this is the one
Oh my goodness, what have you done?
I could turn around and walk away
Saying this is too good to be real
But oh no, I don't think I will

Because I absolutely positively know without a doubt
You're becoming someone I just could not live without
I was so afraid I'd spend my whole life
Not knowing how this feels
But oh no, I don't think I will...

It even hurts just putting the lyrics here. Crushing.

But it is my hurt that reminds me so much as to how much I loved and was loved in return. And that is true. I was loved truly and deeply. It went both ways. We had something so incredibly special and no one else understood how it worked for us. 

The 4th means different things to everyone...

Each Holiday marks another one that we are not together although we never did much on the holidays. You preferred quiet and solitude.

I'll never forget the first 4th we spent together. I had a long weekend and drove 4 hours to spend it riding with you in what is now the Kickapoo Valley Reserve. 

We sat around the campfire with our mule friends at Mule Camp [it still retains that name after 30+ years]. You stated that you needed cigarettes. You were almost out. 

Since your truck was hooked up to the trailer I offered to drive you to LaFarge a few miles away to the ZZ Stop for them.  This was our third 'date' weekend.

I drove past the LaFarge High School as darkness fell and suddenly the skies lit up with fireworks, big bangs, the kind you could feel in your chest. 

In one instant you'd gone from a joyful date to a man who looked like he'd seen a ghost as you tried to make yourself small and contain whatever monsters took over. You muttered, "Oh Shit." By the time we got to the gas station, you were too shaken to get out of my car.

That was the first time in my life that I purchased cigarettes. 

We got back to camp and you went inside the camper on your truck without saying a word to those around the campfire. 

I said goodnight for the both of us and mentioned the Fireworks. His friends nodded and asked if you'd be okay. I nodded and followed you into the camper.

Right then I knew I had to help you through the moment.

I sat next to you on the bed and put my arms around you. "You are safe with me. Always."

This was my first experience with a full meltdown with PTSD caused by the trigger of fireworks. That was the last time we went anywhere on the 4th of July.

Everyone that knew you, knew that noises like that would set you off. 

That look on your face that night in the car introduced me to a different world that most people never get to see. I will never forget it.

I sat with you that night with my arms around you whispering that you were safe and that I was by your side.

My willingness not to judge you or fear your mental health issues was the glue that held us together. You were partly broken, but that was okay with me.

I do like fireworks, don't get me wrong. But each time I hear them on the 4th, it pulls me back to that night and how it solidified our relationship.

Until yesterday, we'd receive phone calls alerting us by close neighbors that they would be setting off fireworks or they'd be out target practicing. They all knew you and how you reacted to Fireworks. 

The silence of that was louder than the fireworks.

and then...

 

One is day good, some days are wreck. That's the new state of my daily life.

When you died, I sat with you quietly and understood what happened but felt numb. You had waited for this event for so many years and talked about how death would bring you peace and end the pain you'd lived with for so long. Your breath stopped, I was watching for that.

I got up and turned off the oxygen concentrator and the house was suddenly so silent and immediately it felt abandoned and empty and...final.

I thought I was ready to handle it all. I was prepared to proceed with 'the things that needed to be done' next. I had a list of things to immediately accomplish. I had a list of places to call for notification. 

It felt like a business 'to do' list. 

I dove into the funeral business first everyone knows all about that.

I went down my list sometimes running into issues and hitches along the way. 

I figured that I'd grieved for years through all of your illnesses and close calls.

When you entered Hospice care, I was on high alert for months on end. Sometimes I wished for it to happen right away for you to end your suffering and the next moment I hated myself for thinking about it.

I wanted you here, I wanted you at peace and without pain. I couldn't have both at the same time. I quit the gym, I couldn't stand spending time with others who experienced joy and laughter. I carried my personal suffering quietly and sometimes angrily.

I was angry that family didn't step up or come around. They had their reasons but I couldn't see them or understand them. I hid that too and concentrated on our time together. I found that your friend Steve was the rock I could count on. I cherished those days when we worked so hard to bring you some enjoyment. 

Now it has been what, 9 months? I am looking back at last summer's photos of our little fishing trips on Wednesdays and the joy that it brought to you. I now wish I had more time to tell you how much I loved you and how much your smiles meant to me. I now regret not holding your hand every day [even though you were not a hand holder]. I wished we'd hugged more.

At night with my thoughts I wonder if I could have done more and realize those were just night wishes. I had so many nights without sleep for over 6 months. I was running on empty just like you were. 

I was pretty sure that my life would be easier after you were gone. I could sleep, I could go and do things I've dreamed of. I would be just fine and not a wreck because I was prepared.

Until I realized I wasn't. Half of me was gone. Okay, not literally, but you read about it all the time. I felt like I was adjusting to that. 

And then I wasn't.

No one else knows me like you did. No one knows you like I did. These were our secret powers. 

So, I have days where I am stuck standing in the middle of the living room with no place to go, and feeling quite lost. I do have places to go and things to do. But my feet are frozen to the floor for some reason. 

I don't want to go to the grocery store. I don't want to do anything I am supposed to be doing. I am just stuck and now I understand that I have to wait until I am unstuck and my feet can move and my brain can make a decision.

That shouldn't be. But I guess I didn't do grief the right way, if indeed there is a right way to grieve. I didn't fall apart, I just took care of things and continue to do so. And I get stuck.

Then I find a goal to work towards. I need a project or a challenge.

The months going by haven't really gotten easier. I've just been able to distract my brain.

I haven't found the answers to the questions I don't even understand yet.

But that is okay. 

I still think about you. I still see you. I still love you.

The Cowboy way

 Hi there. 

I thought I'd better check in with you. I don't know how this happened, but I am getting into my old groove again. By that, I mean I am doing sociable things. Hiking, riding, going out for coffee, joining a photography club, and learning to be alive again.

But every time I turn around, I find some wonderful memory popping up. 

You were standing next to the horse trailer with my mare, Cheyanne, saddled up and waiting. Your mule, Fred, was tied up next to her.

In your hand you had a cold beer waiting for me. You were casually leaning against your mule with a crooked grin on your face. 

I knew then as a 'newlywed' that I had died and ended up in marital heaven. 

You laughed and told me to grab my boots. We were going riding. I sipped the cold beer as we rode out.

Forget supper, this was cowboy romance.

The evening sun was pleasant. We rode through the neighbor's pasture gate and past the herd of beef cattle.

We found a scrub apple tree and tied up our mounts. 

You tossed a your shirt on the pasture grass.

The sunset was amazing. We watched the moon rise as our mounts munched on grass. You blew clouds of smoke into the air and leaned in...

You can guess the rest. Cowboy courtin'.

I only have those memories now.

Tonight this one smacked me right in the face as I sat on Siera and watched the sun start to fade.

I blush, remembering it.

No, I haven't met anyone. Hannah is helping fill the big aching hole in my heart. Puppies. What can I say? She demands so much, it keeps me busy.

Charlie keeps me grounded. He keeps me on track.

The mules? 

They spark the memories of the cowboy-muleman romance. 

Tonight, while riding Siera in the forest, I felt something like joy. I felt my heart warm.

That engaging memory flowed through me.

I hadn't felt like that in years. I gasped and then smiled. 

My my cheeks turn red. I sensed your presence.

Somehow I am having a joyful week. I should feel sad or perhaps guilty. But I'm going to take the joy and embrace it.

The pain will hit again, but I'm smiling when I think of you and your cowboy ways.

And that shirt on the ground. 

Healing a bit at a time.

I finally found something I could put on our headstone. I'd been looking for a hanging basket of
fake flowers, but settled on this.

 
Friday while at the gym, I partnered up with a gal named Charlene. She is super quiet and doesn't speak out much during our workouts.

After Rich died, I got quiet. I don't even speak most of the time during my gym workouts except to answer questions.

His death took away some of my spunk and attitude.

Don't get me wrong, I am not mute. I just don't see the point of gossip and other nonsensical conversations that don't impress me. Things feel so much different. Sometimes I feel like I am walking about in an alternative reality from others. 

Charlene and I were sharing a barbell doing Thrusters and other variations of strength training. 

In casual conversation, I mentioned something about taking papers to the bank to prove that I was the surviving spouse with right of survivorship to Charlene. 

Charlene was my 'gym' partner on this day. 

She quietly told me that her husband had died two years ago in June. She admited that Widowhood was difficult, even after nearly two years, she had to deal with things she never thought of.

I stood, probably with my mouth hanging wide open. I said, "Oh, I'm speechless, I think. I've never met another widow. Thank you for telling me." 

I immediately thought JEEZE, that was dumb! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

What I should have said aloud is that no one walks around introducing themselves as a widow.

We did another round of lifts.

I turned to her and said, "Thank you, you have no idea how alone I feel being a widow. It is like nobody else really gets it."

Charlene nodded. "They don't. I am glad we spoke. We have something very real in common."

"We do, we are different but we have this." We both looked at each other as we got ready to leave the gym. 

"Thank you."

She nodded.

Her eyes told me everything I needed to know. She still had pain behind those eyes. She still mourned. But she didn't broadcast her mourning or her pain. She kept it to herself because, unless you have that loss, you 

cannot

know 

the pain

endured 

each day.

And you are expected to get over it quickly.

Except is doesn't happen that way. Grief bombards you in the strangest of ways and places.

We smile, we go on. We work at living a life. Some days are good. Some days suck. We continue to explore who we are now that we are not the other half of another.

I waved as I left the gym. "I'll see you next week! And I promise not to lose you on that hike!"

She smiled. The smile nearly reached her eyes and she nodded.

"See you!"

~~~~~

Charlene had told me that she was joining me on the B-day hike. She was worried that I'd hike too fast and leave her behind. I assured her that no such thing would happen.

When I hike with others, it is at their ability and speed. When I go solo for time I never invite others. I am competing against myself. ~~~~

It is exhausting...

 Holy crap.

Today exhausted me mentally and physically like no other. 

I finally had to open an account in my name and leave yours behind. Somehow, it felt like a betrayal. 

I did have to wait until our taxes were filed and I received the refund from the state. It really threw me for a loop. How was I to endorse a check made out to me and your Estate? Huh? 

Just to prove things, I had to show our estate papers to the New Accounts lady. She wanted to know where HIS papers were. I carefully read the paperwork to her and pointed out that I was the Trustee now. When I am gone, another is named.

Her brows furrowed and then she got it. God, that really hurt.

Your name is now 'erased' from the banks files. It feels awful, as if you never existed. How can that be? Your 50+ years of having a relationship with the financial institution is done. Gone. 

At least with both names on our checks and other items, I felt a bit more whole even though you are not here.

Now I feel abandoned. Truly on my own without your support.

I left the bank and went grocery shopping. Guess who followed me around the store? Zeke. 

[For those who don't know, Zeke is a neighbor of sorts. He used to steal from his neighbors. He is too addled from alcoholism now to do much harm. He is loud and I don't care for him much. He hollered out 'Hey how is the old mule man?' I wasn't going to tell him that you were gone. I didn't want to have THAT conversation with him.] 

I changed the subject and went on my way. I didn't want to talk to him about you.

In fact I didn't want to talk to anyone at all. 

I thought I'd be much better by now. You know, okay and all that. 

When I got home and put away the groceries, I just felt pain. Even with happy dogs milling around my feet. I think I now understand the Mental Pain you went through after coming home. Just a little bit.

It is exhausting. I had to lay down.

You would laugh.

One warm cuddling dog on each side of me.

But it still hurts. With your name on our account, I somehow [weirdly] felt that you were still there, backing me up.

It is a hard realization that happens over and over my dearest. You are not there. Yet I feel you.

Hello Again

 I do miss you. 

Have you been following what I am doing around here?

Who would have thought that your Toyota in the shed would sell for what it did? Did you know at the time you were getting a 'Collector' Car? A Barn Find? A Treasure? I saw nothing but a heap of metal. That shows you what I know.

Your coveted Country Clipper is in for a Tune up. Mark was devastated when he heard you died. I thought he was going to cry. He put his head on the counter and was quiet for a few moments. He's going to revive your chainsaw too.

Decision making is hard without your input. Last night when another set of storms came through, I swear, I heard you talking in the other room.

I was sure I heard your voice.

Even the dogs turned their heads and looked into the living room.

I think you were asking what we were having for supper. I even answered you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have found that long distance hiking eases the pain of missing you. So I go walk. You never saw the movie Forrest Gump, but that is who I feel like. 

Hike Val Hike, that could be my mantra. Why do you hike? Because I feel like it. Crazy right?

I hear you laughing at me and I see you shaking your head. 

Am I crazy? I don't know. But I do know that missing you and letting it hurt is a good thing. I know I can feel emotion.

I've taken a break from the people at the gym who keep giving me that sideways look or completely ignoring me. After all, I've heard that I should be over it by now.

What is IT?

I still find myself standing on the porch or anywhere and just looking for something. Not really looking though. Just standing there as if frozen in time.

I did have a bright spot the other day. Jason who was your nurse mentioned said your name and commented on your humor. We laughed.

And I thanked him for telling his story and saying your name. Because you know... I feel...like...

I am half of myself these days. 

Even though I am trying so hard to find the new me without you.

That works some days and not so much on other days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just looked out in the yard. The grass is long again. Should I just mow it with the little mower? What do you think?

I'll wait for your answer. 

Talk to you later....