There’s Something About Loss

There’s something about loss after you’ve lost a spouse.

Every small loss becomes a painful big loss.

And the big losses?  The “end of relationship” losses?  Those ones are devastating.  I don’t know how to deal with those.

I know he reads these…and I’ve tried to keep it out of my blog because they get thrown back in my face later.

The fact that I mention this on my blog will probably get thrown back in my face later.

But in the end… I’m sitting here, bawling, because I LOVE someone.  And that someone has broken my heart.  But blames me.  And I have taken my share of the fault.  I own my mistakes and my douchebaggery.  I own those.  I screw up.  I’m human.  I am not perfect.

And I love him.  But my heart keeps getting ripped in pieces.

And still I love him.

I have moments of listing all the things that I don’t want, all the reasons why it will never work and as soon as I see him, as soon as I am in the same room as him, sometimes even when I’m just thinking about him… the list just gets lost in the clutter of my mind and the only thing I can think of is “IlovehimIwanthimIneedhimImisshimIovehim” and that runs through my mind over and over and over and over and I can’t shut that up.

No matter how much I want to.

I want him.  I love him. I miss him.

We hurt each other.  We misunderstand each other.  We take each other wrongly.  We assume the worst of each other.

I want him. I love him. I miss him.

The loss… the ending.. the pain… its overwhelming because I *do* love him.  Enormously.

I can’t put him in a tiny little box in my heart.  It keeps fucking breaking open.

I put my dead husband in a box.  He stays there, mostly.   But right now… I am overwhelmed with pain and sadness and tears.

Because somehow… the loss of one… rips apart the boxes of both.  The hurt of losing one… destroys my defenses against both.

I’m in love with a dead guy.

I’m in love with a live guy.

And I’m alone and crying.

overfilled suitcase

Took It Off Again

When my ex-boyfriend and I were trying to work things out, I took off my ash pendant.

For a while… I forgot that I had taken it off. It didn’t cross my mind that I had taken it off.

And then a couple days ago, I found it on my end table.  I wanted to put it away but was in the middle of something else, so I just put it on again.   I forgot about it… wearing jewelry just becomes part of my skin.  If I wear it long enough I feel naked without it on.  If I take it off…after a while I don’t notice its absence.  (ask me about my wedding rings – i haven’t noticed that my fingers are bear in months)

So I put the ash pendant on.

And it bugged me.

It’s heavy.  I don’t know how I didn’t notice that before. It’s REALLY heavy.

And it sits right in my cleavage.  Right where my heart is, right between my boobs. So as I move around it bounces against my boobs.

And… it wasn’t comfortable.   I love it.  It’s beautiful.  It’s a lovely reminder of my dead husband.

But it didn’t *feel* right being on my body again.

I wear him in my skin.  I wear him in my heart. He is forever a part of me.

Maybe, just maybe, I am coming to that place of accpetance and moving on?  Almost fully at the “don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened state of mind” that would be so lovely?

Peace

I’d like to think that I’m coming to a place of peace.   To a place of… yes, I am a widow.  Yes, it’s part of what defines me much as being a mom did, being a wife did, being a student does.  It defines me, shapes the way I look at the world, but it is no longer my WHOLE world.

It is a big part of it.  Until I get married again, I’ll still check “widow” on the box, even if I have to write the box in because someone didnt’ think to put it there. Because it is so very much a part of who I am.

But it is no longer the focus of my entire world.

I miss him with every breath.  I wish with ever fibre of my being that we could have had the life we planned.   I think though, that I’m coming to a place of acceptance of what is.   Of the change in our relationship, in the change in my life, in the story I am writing for my own life.

Putting Him First

I talked to a friend of mine yesterday.

She was there before Mark died.

She was there when he was sick.

She was there after he died.

She supported me when I decided to move to the middle of nowhere to be with my Chapter 2 (who hates that term)

The conversation was that I needed to do some work on me, because I need to get to a point where I’m ready to move forward.

That things with Mike didn’t work because I wasn’t ready to move forward.

I have to wonder… is she correct?

Do I see things with such a “widow’s outlook” that I can’t see how much I put Mark in front of everything else?

I don’t feel like I do.  Not now.

Maybe I did?  I don’t know that I do now.

I’m a widow.  I’m a mom.  I’m a student.

Not in that order.

I was a girlfriend.  But I want to be a wife again.

How do I find the balance between girlfriend/wife and widow?

How do I honour my late husband and still plan a future?

I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. Well, I do.  I just don’t know how to get it. I don’t know how to overcome the challenges I see in front of me.  I don’t know if I CAN because it’s not all up to me.

But in the end… where I”m supposed to be… who I’m supposed to be with… will happen.

I will always be in love with a dead man.  But I want a future with a live one.

Life Is Short

FOLLOW DOCTOR’S ORDERS ALREADY!!!

I am angry tonight. Someone I know had a heart attack 6 weeks ago. She is significantly overweight (although has been working out and losing weight) and does not eat healthy (steak & potatoes type dinners). She has been released and readmitted several times. All for heart issues/chest pain.

She does not follow doctors orders. Was trying to walk a km less than a week after her heart attack. It’s been 6 weeks and she gets all jumpy excited when she can push herself to do 1, 2kms.

She’s back in the hospital now. She pushes herself, depsite CHEST PAINS to walk. and walk further. And push harder. She didn’t like the hospital food so ordered…. PIZZA. FOR REALZ.

So as to why I’m angry.

I had to give up something this weekend because my life has conspired against me. I’m a little frustrated because not only do *I* not get to participate as either a player or an official in an amazing derby tournament, I am letting down the people told I would be there.

I posted my frustration on my facebook status.

She responded with “oh to put things in perspective… I’m in the hospital and can’t walk because of my heart issues… blah blah blah.”

I GET PERSPECTIVE. I WAS WITH MY HUSBAND FOR 159 DAYS IN ICU BEFORE HE DIED. I WAS WITH HIM BOTH TIMES HE WAS IN THE CARDIAC WARD 3 YEARS BEFORE THAT. HE DID WHAT HIS DOCTOR ORDERED AND HE STILL FUCKING DIED.

So yeah. I am angry tonight. Because he DID what he was supposed to and he STILL died. She’s the one who needs to get some freaking perspective.

IMAG0026

The Things You Lose

There were so many things my husband loved.

Movies.

Awards shows.

Musicals.

Music shows.

Things I don’t watch anymore.

Glee.  Oscars.  So You Think You Can Dance.  Dancing With The Stars.

I don’t watch them because I want to share them with him.  I go to tell him something, even after all this time.   And then… the hurt hits.  My heart hurts.  I remember what I’ve lost.

After 32 months.  I still get hit in the chest by the pain of losing him.

I’m deliberately watching the Oscars tonight.

I am on purpose watching a show that was something he and I watched together.

I am not wallowing, but I am letting the pain wash over me.   I am breathing through the sadness.  I am feeling it.

I have heard/read somewhere that in order to let something go, you must first have a hold of it.

I can’t let go of the pain, I can’t move past the pain, I can’t leave the pain behind if I don’t FEEL the pain.

The well of pain is deep and at times seems limitless.   But I know as time goes by, as I move through each wave of pain, as I learn to swim in the deep ocean of grief… it becomes easier.   Not consistently, but it does.  There are times I’m drowning, but there are times when I feel the pain…and I let it go.

Slowly… I’m getting better at the letting go.   Slowly.

In the meantime… I make choices as to when I wish to submerge myself in that pain… sometimes… so I can learn to swim.

Grief Is Like the Ocean

Grief Waves

I don’t remember the last time I had a grief wave hit me this hard or last this long.

It’s leaving me in a fog.  In a mental state of confusion.  I’m slow, and I’m easily distracted and I’m unable to concentrate.

I had forgotten what full on grief does to me.

I had forgotten what it feels like to ride the wave of pain.

I’m pretty sure I don’t fucking like it.

But it will pass.  And life will get better.  I’m glad that I don’t have to be in school this week.

Grief Is Like the Ocean

Falling Apart

I am falling apart right now.

Big, snotty, can’t breathe, can’t see sobs.

It’s a good thing I can type without looking, without seeing because I can’t right now.   I apologize for any spelling errors.

I hurt.

My dad died, did I tell anyone here that?

He died in April 2011.

A year before my husband.

He and I weren’t particularly close.  He lived 8 hours away, and didn’t seem to know, despite his incredible intelligence, how to pick up a phone and use it.

And then when he finally did call… it was to tell me he had stage 4 lung cancer.

That was October?  November? of 2010.   We went to see him at Christmas.  My brother, my sister, me.  My sister’s husband.  My husband and kids.   And then we didn’t expect to see him again.

I managed to go for another visit in March – saw him in the hospital.

And then he died in April.  I remember – I was at work when I got the call.   My husband came to get me.

I had a cry.   I mourned.   We spread his ashes that summer at Duggan Lake.   I cried again.

And that was it.

Less than a year later, my husband went into the hospital.   159 days after – he died.

My dad and I weren’t close.   I always had a feeling of I would never *quite* measure up.   I got an A once on an English Essay and he said to let him know when I got 100% on an essay like him.

I’m in English right now – my essay marks have been 97%, 97%, and 98%.  Not quite the 100%.  And yes, each mark, I’ve thought about him when I saw that it wasn’t perfect.

So Saturday I went to see 50 Shades of Grey.

The main female character graduates from college.  Her dad shows up.   She’s super happy.  And then it hits me.

HE WON’T BE THERE.

My dad won’t be at my graduation.

He won’t be there for me at that moment.

He was at almost every other major event in my life.

But he won’t be at that one.

And so there I am… in the middle of a sexxy movie… crying.

Fuck me.

And tonight?  I can’t stop.  It’s like all the grief I didn’t know was there has just bubbled the fuck out.

And I can’t stop crying about it.

I miss my Daddy.  I miss him.  And I’m never going to be able to share my grandson with him.  He’s not going to see me graduate.  He’s not going to be a part any of that.

And I can’t stop crying about it.

So much fucking lost time.

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