Anger out of NoWhere

Serious anger.

Pissed off-ed-ness.

Because my son has difficulties that require a diagnosis (or he may not) but these are things that should have been addressed a long time ago – but Mark didn’t.

Or maybe he did.

I don’t know.

I just know that aside from when he was 5, Luke hasn’t been assessed and his output at school is slow.

I’m frustrated because I don’t know that I have the capability to deal with Luke and my two step-sons with disabilities.

And I’m angry because he died and left me to deal with this.


He’s supposed to be here to help.

Somehow – in my relationship with my new guy – I’m part of everything with his boys – but I’m doing the stuff with my kids on my own.

I’m somewhat overwhelmed.

I’m somewhat lost.

And I’m angry that he left me to deal with all of this.

I thought I was done with the anger.

Apparently not.



One of my favourite authors is Cecelia Ahern.

She wrote a book about where the lost things go – lost things, lost people, lost memories.    In the book, a woman is somewhat obsessed with finding things – because she knows they have to go *somewhere* – and ends up being lost herself.

She finds a place called here.   It’s where missing people are creating lives, creating a world and generally getting on with life after they’ve been lost.

One thing that stuck with me was a scene in the book where a boy hears laughter – his own – because his mom has forgotten what his laugh sounds like – so it ended up lost.

I am grateful beyond words for my wedding video and the video montage I have – Mark’s voice and his laugh are there.  I will never forget what he sounded like.

But I’m starting to forget what he felt like.  What his touch felt like.  How it felt to be held by him.  How it felt to be touched by him.  How it felt to be kissed by him.

I’m starting to forget that.

I don’t remember what it was like to lay beside him in bed and snuggle.  I don’t remember what it was like when he’d curve his body against mine.  I don’t remember how he would touch me.

And I want to.  I want to remember those things.  I want to remember how he FELT.

I still remember the last touches he gave me – him stroking my hair as I cried on that last night.  Holding his hands that had gotten so papery thin and delicate.  The last time I crawled into bed with him – after he had died and I just wanted to lay next to him one. last. time.

But I the memories of the life, the joy, the touches, the kisses…. those are all fading away…

I think that hurts almost as much as him dying did.

tears1 Memory down your cheek

It’s A Warrior Thing

I really shouldn’t read other people’s blogs before I’ve had coffee or gone pee.

There’s this woman, Michelle Pammenter Young, who’s story I’ve been following.

Short version:  she got Inflammatory Breast Cancer (survival rate of  34% at 5 years) and kicked it in the balls.  She has been living life large and planning a future with her kids and husband.

She wrote a book about it.

She started a blog.

She went back to work.

She was changing her world and inspiring others (me included) with her drive, perseverance and positive attitude.

And then this morning, I’m perusing Facebook and see a post from her… a blog.

I had been watching for her posts -she had mentioned a blinding headache in one of them.

This isn’t the kind of post you want to read before you’ve had your first coffee or before your eyes are even properly awake.

It’s the kind of post that kicks you in the stomach, leaves you breathless and makes you wonder at the injustice of the universe.

I’ll let you read her blog. 

Have some tissues ready.    I’m kinda in shock right now.

If you could send her some love, positive support, good vibes, prayers, whatever it is that you believe in to her…

I was cheering for her when she was fighting breast cancer.  And I’m still cheering her on that she’ll kick this one too.    I don’t want to see her husband join our ranks… this is a club no one wants to join and we’d prefer not to welcome new members to.

The Year I Died

Finding the Balance

Trying to find the balance between devastating, soul-wrenching grief and the joy and love of a new relationship is a balance that I never thought I would have to find.

I miss Mark.

I miss him in ways that tear me apart.

I still have moments where I feel like this is surreal.  Like any moment someone is going to tell me that nope – this was all a bad dream, that he’s actually coming home.

Those moments are so heart wrenching, so soul tearing they leave me breathless and shaken.

And then… I look at my life.   The man who is my second chapter.   The children who I’m coming to love as my own.

I can’t imagine giving them up.   I can’t imagine life without them.   It would *devastate* me to lose them.

I don’t want to spend my life without them.

I look at Mike and my heart is filled with joy and love and happiness.

It’s a bit of a split personality.

But each day, I’m grateful for what I had, sad and missing what I had but so incredibly happy with what I have.

It’s a balance.

Chubb Lake April 2013


Mark & Jane Christmas 2009