17 Years

As I write this, my new Love is in our bed, sleeping peacefully because he has to work in the morning.  I have no where to be; I have some stuff to do at home but for the most part, my next 3 weeks are my own.

I snuck out of the bedroom. I wanted a few minutes to myself to write this post and I haven’t managed to get them today.  It’s been a busy day.  My friend from Vancouver Island was up visiting this weekend.  My daughter was over printing pictures of my grandson. The drive to the airport was just over an hour and when I got home, there were extra people in the house.

It’s hard to just feel when there are people around.  My house was too people-y.

On the way back from the airport, I had a cry. I talked to him. I yelled at him.I raged against the unfairness of it all.

I was supposed to have 50 years with him and I got barely 14. Not quite 13 married.

There’s a part of me that still rages about that.  Because, yanno, I miss him.  I miss his smile. I miss his laugh.  I miss the look in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t noticing.

But there’s the part of me that doesn’t.

I have a beautiful life in so many ways.

I’m going  back to school – and able to make a difference in other people’s lives.

I’ve met people who are amazing and fun and make a HUGE difference in mine.

I’ve got a new love who loves me intensely.

I’ve got a good life.

And none of it.  NONE of it would have happened if he was still here.

I miss him. I miss my Mark with so much intensity that I don’t know how to breathe when I think of it.

I miss him.  And I’m grateful for every. single. day. I got with him. He taught me so much and allowed me to become more myself than I would have been able to without him.

I wish I could be celebrating the end of an amazing day with Mark. I wish he were here to see his grandsons.  I wish, with all my heart, that we had gotten those 50 years.

But as the saying goes… if wishes were horses…

I can’t change the past. I can honour him, honour our life together, do good for other people, but I can’t change the past.

Happy Anniversary my Love.  I will love you for the rest of my life. You left me with beautiful memories, four amazing children, and a lifetime of love. I was your happy ever after. I got the fairy tale of “until death” and I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d love you and walk that journey with you again if I were asked – even knowing that our paths would diverge.

I love you.

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A Myriad of Emotions

I’m happy.  Ridiculously happy. And I feel like crying.

I said to the Sexy Chef when we were shopping for groceries… “I don’t like always being the sad one you know.”

It’s exhausting. I’m sad.  I’m happy. Every damn thing is tinged with sadness. Everything.

At this moment, I want to take my Sexy Chef to bed.  I want to rock his world.  And I want to bawl.  I feel broken and brittle and like I’m going to fall apart at the slightest thing.

I don’t like feeling like this.  The joys of widowhood are that I am forever fighting with the sadness.  I LOVE my sexy chef. He brings such joy to my life.  He’s kind and considerate and loves me for exactly who I am. I want to revel in that. I want to lose myself in him.

Fuck widowhood. Fuck having to forever have that golden thread of grief running through every damn thing I do.

I want to feel joy with the blissful ignorance of someone who hasn’t known loss.

I want to lose myself in a moment without the knowledge that life can change in just one moment.

And in the kitchen, he pulls me around, makes me look him in the eye and says to me… “You’re ok.”

And for one second, I can, I do, lose myself in the moment and forget that it might change when I blink.

For one second… I am lost in the love of a man who loves me for me.  The good, the bad, and the broken.

One DayTurn On the LightIt's Going to be Ok SomedayKintsugi

Finding Love Again

I’ve gone through a couple boyfriends since Mark died.

One was just for fun (George – he was my happy place) and the other I thought was my chapter 2 (my Metalhead Poet) but wasn’t.

I’ve hurt.  I’ve cried. I’ve gone on a number of crappy first dates through Plenty of Fish.  I had almost decided that I’m not destined to find love again.

And then I did. I found my Sexy Chef.

I met him on POF. Had a date.  Threatened to kill him. (literally – I said to him “I’m going to kill you if you don’t let me sleep).  Had another date.  Got into a fight type thing.  Told him flat out that I didn’t want to date him, and that I was happy to be friends but for a number of reasons (the fight being one of them) I didn’t want to date him.

We became friends. We talked.  A lot. And then… I started to fall for him.

He traveled six hours to take a chance that perhaps we might have a real connection.

We do.

We have an amazing connection. I’ve fallen in love with a man who is kind, considerate, respectful, loving, caring and so passionate and supportive about me being me.

We mesh well.  We communicate well. We… … do other things well. We are very compatible.

This weekend, I met his family – most of them. We spent a night with his mom and step-dad, his brother and his sister-in-law and his niece and nephews.

They are lovely people. Really freaking awesome people. Despite my overwhelming anxiety before I got there, I was quickly made to feel welcome and I felt at home.

It’s amazing, finding love again. Finding the place where bliss and joy meet in a potential future. And discovering that I can open my heart again.  Being able to place my heart in someone else’s hands, and trust that he will keep it safe… that is an amazing thing.

I have found love again. And it’s beautiful. And he loves me. In all my beautiful broken-ness.

One Day

 

 

Juxtaposition of Past & Present

How is it possible to feel such joy and such pain and sorrow at the same time?

How is it possible to look into the eyes of my present and possible future and melt with love then be devastated by a memory of the past that is no longer?

How is it possible to be so very happy and so devastatingly sad at the same time?

I have found love again. He makes my heart sing. He’s understanding, kind, caring, considerate, and he is willing to do whatever it takes to be there for me while I grieve intensely at this time of year. And when he was talking about me to someone he works with, his word were “I can be her next chapter, she already had a great chapter before me… I get to be next” (or something along those lines.  I was so shocked and so much more instantly in love with him when he said that that I don’t remember his exact words)

And… I want to tell Mark.  I want to tell him all about this new guy. I want to tell Mark how the new guy makes me feel. I want to snuggle up and see him and tell him all about the things that make my new guy so amazing. Because Mark would understand.  He’d be happy for me.  He’d want to hear all the details. He’d want to meet the new guy.  Because he was that awesome.

How do I reconcile the absolute joy I have found in my new love with the devastation of not having my husband?

It’s a strange juxtaposition. One I never expected to be feeling or working my way through 3 days before the 4th anniversary of his death.

I’m devastated and sad and grieving.

I’m happy and in love and enjoying life.

What. The. Everloving. Fuck?

Stages-of-Grief

Widowed Twice

I can’t imagine.

I literally cannot imagine going through it again.

The shock.

The pain.

The numbness.

The numbness wearing off.

The pain.

OH my gawd the pain.

I can’t imagine being in a place where you’re happy, your heart is full, you’re moving forward…. and just like that…. the rug is yanked out from under you again.

I can’t imagine.

And yet… a member of the widowed community… has had that happen.

She found her chapter 2.

She was engaged.  Blending families.  Looking forward to a life of love after the loss she experienced prior.

And just like that, her fiancé died.

My heart goes out to her and her family.   I can’t imagine.  But I can offer her love and support.

It's Too Late

It’s Been a While

I want to write, I really do.  But I have a confluence of messed up things keeping from writing.

I have spent a lot of time crying lately.   It’s something about letting down your walls, becoming entirely vulnerable and fully open only to have someone shatter you.

You see, we were trying, one last time.  My ex and I.  We were giving it one more shot.   I had some issues.  I was concerned about those issues.  And we got into a fight about those issues.   And he did something he’d never done before.  And at that moment… the walls came down.    All boxes open.  The grief and vulnerability over the dead husband.  The intense love of the live man in front of me.  All open.  And in the middle of a sentence… he got up and left.

Done.

Over.

And in that moment… my heart shattered.

All the boxes that had been opened.. every one of them suddenly jumbled together.

So now… for the past week… I have been actively grieving again.

Grieving over the loss of the man I was supposed to spend my life with, until he died.

Grieving over the loss of the man I was hoping to spend my life with, until he walked out.

Grieving the loss of a future I’d planned for 14 years, until he died.

Grieving the loss of a future I’d hoped for with the man I moved 8 hours to be with, until he walked out.

For him – there’s a whole lotta reasons why we didn’t work.

For me – it came down to one.  And he walked out when I mentioned the dead guy’s name.

So for the past week, I’ve been actively grieving.  I have been watching Grey’s Anatomy on a marathon basis.  And bawling my face off.  Denny died.  Kathryn Heigl did an amazing job of portraying a grieving widow.  I bawled.  Other people died.  Other people got hurt.  Major characters went through transformative, emotional moments.

And I bawled.

It’s easy to say that I’m crying over the show, but in truth, I’m grieving.  I’m back in the place I was shortly after Mark died… all of it due to me dropping my walls far enough and completely enough for him to walk out and shatter me.

And he has no idea.

I haven’t told him.

I won’t.

The closest I’ve come is when he texted me something and I mentioned that I was struggling and I really couldn’t do this at this time.

But he has no idea how much I’m hurting.

Grieving again… it sucks.  I am the queen of disassociation.  I am good at putting things in boxes.  I am amazing at compartmentalizing and not letting the different parts of my life touch.

Until it overwhelms me.

Until the boxes open.

Until everything is all mixed up, jumbled up, and I’m grieving again.

I really really really want to be looked at like my husband looked at me.  Like Derek Shepherd looks at Meridith Grey.  I really really want that again… but in the meantime… I’m grieving.

Grey's Anatomy

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