Life Changes

I miss my husband.

I miss his steadfast, solid, calmness.

I miss being able to lean into him.

I don’t know how to navigate the waters of a contentious relationship with my oldest child without him.  My new husband is angry about him hurting me. He doesn’t have the same attachment my dead husband had.

I don’t know how to navigate the waters of a potential diagnosis for my kid.  I mean – I did it with my husband. I navigated all those moments of discussing it with doctors, but this is my CHILD. The person who helped bring her into the world and he’s NOT here to be all the things I miss about him while I panick and cry and fall apart.

My current husband loves me. He adores me. He’s there for me in every way.

But he has a detachment that allows him to be passionate about the injustices to ME which leaves me feeling like I have to fight on two fronts – angry/frustrated about whatever situation but at times having to defend the situation.

It’s exhausting.

I miss my kid. The one who wasn’t so angry at the world and who I could talk to about everything. He doesn’t get that he and his kids ARE important to me. He doesn’t care that I’m going through my own shit. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t ask. Just sees that I’m not there for him in the way he wants. He doesn’t care what it would have cost me, personally, financially, emotionally to step out of my life to be there in his.

All he sees is I wasn’t there.

And now we’re fighting because of it.

And he’s too angry with the world and at women in general to stop and listen or see my side.  And now I cannot see a way around it or to fix it.

And I miss my husband because he would have been the negotiator. The mediator.  The peace-maker.

My current husband is just angry at the fact that I’m hurting.

I miss him.  My husband who was the rock, the glue in our lives.

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Missing Him Lately

I spend a lot of time with ALC/LTC patients and residents lately.

Helping them with body care, helping them eat, helping them walk, helping their lives have meaning.

Some of them talk.

Some of them don’t.

The ones that don’t, I try to have “conversations” with them… but I’m not super good and it leaves me with time to think.

Would this have been my life if he’d lived? Or would he have recovered to be independent again? Or would it have been, no matter what, the beginning of the end?

The what if’s get me.

What if he’d lived? What if he’d pushed that one more time? What if?

And WHY THE FUCK DID HE HAVE TO DIE?

Why do I have to navigate this world without him who understood me so well? Why do I (as much as I do love him) have to navigate everything with my new husband who doesn’t *quite* get it? Who I have to work at having good communication with?

Why did other people get to survive what he went through and he didn’t?

Why did I have to be a widow?

Why the fuck?

I’ll never have the answers and this will never be a thing I’m *over* because how do you get over losing someone you love so deeply?

Lately it’s been super freaking hard managing the grief. It hits me out of no where and I always feel like crying.  7 years gone. That’s half the time I had with him. I want more.

Stages-of-GriefMark in Fruitvale

Nobody Knows

7 years ago everyone knew me as MarkandJane.

They knew that Mark and Jane were an entity.  They knew Mark’s love of fishing, flyfishing especially. They knew that he had disabilities (although he was careful not to show anyone else how bad it could get).  They knew he adored his kids, and they knew that he was the primary parent in our household.

They knew he was well read, articulate although they might not have known he wasn’t formally educated.

They knew he liked to play World of Warcraft.  I was the only one who knew that he waited until he was alone to do so. He’d tuck me into bed, snuggle for a bit, then get up and go do his thing while I slept.

They knew he was passionate about the environment.  He was angry beyond belief when the train derailed and sanitized the Cheakamus River. And he was heartbroken over it.

They knew he was the go-to guy for all things fishing.

They knew he was an amazing cook who made incredible Bailey’s latte’s.

They knew he and I had an incredible connection, an incredible Love that spans time, distance and death.

And now… I am married to Ryan.  And no one I know up here knows anything about Mark.

How could they? I moved up here a year after he died. I knew no one up here when I moved.

NO ONE KNOWS.

So how the FUCK, if they don’t know… am I supposed to explain to them why I’m crying randomly? Why a stupid song will reduce me to rubble? Why I start leaking for seemingly no reason?

How am I supposed to explain to anyone who sees me in the middle of a grief storm how much it still hurts every. single. day. that he’s gone.

Widows always feel the need to explain… “I DO love my living husband… but…”

It’s horrible. Unless you’ve lived it, how do you explain to someone how much you miss the dead husband even as you’re snuggled up to the live one?

I don’t go looking for grief triggers – but lately they’re finding me. And the leaking has started again.  Randomly, without warning or control.

And at 6 1/2 years out… I look like a mentally and emotionally unstable person instead of a grieving widow.

Which really sucks.

I miss this look:

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I miss the love that shone out of his eyes whenever he looked at me. I see it in all the pictures.  Times I didn’t realize he was looking at me like that.

And so I grieve in this new world of “Mark who?” and hope that the people who catch me at it understand that I’m not emotionally unstable – I’m just missing him.

Birth and Death

My newest grandchild was born two weeks ago at 10:17am.

She was a perfect 9lbs 2oz.

One minute, there was a pregnant daughter with one child… the next, there was a new little human being.

Ok, maybe longer than a minute.  But you know what I mean. It was a shift in our worlds.  She went from momma of 1 to momma of 2.

It seems somewhat surreal… just like when he died.  One minute I was a wife, the next?  A widow.

Life happens in moments.  The moment of birth. The moment of death. The moment of “I do.”

Life happens when you least expect it.  And it’s all intertwined. Changes happen and life continues and you miss someone so fiercely you can’t breathe and you love someone new so fiercely you can’t breathe and it’s ALL THERE AT ONCE.

I miss Mark with every fibre of my being.

I love my grandchildren to the moon and back.

I love Ryan with every fibre of my being.

None of these are in conflict with the other. None of these cancel out the other.

One moment I was a wife, the next a widow.

One moment I was a widow/girlfriend/fiance, the next I was a wife.

One moment my daughter was pregnant, the next I had a new baby granddaughter.

Birth and death and everything in between. Everything changes in a moment.

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Grief Storms

But damn the grief has hit me.

I keep going back to my wedding photos of me marrying my Sexxy Chef hoping that it will pull me out of my funk but the reality is that loving the Sexxy Chef does NOT override missing Mark.

So I’m at work, feeling like a lead blanket is draped over me, grateful my patients are fairly stable and undemanding.

Because I just want to curl up and ignore life for the next few days.

 

Grief Storms Still Happen

I’m getting married in 24 days.

I was reading a post made by a fellow derby girl who also happens to be a recent widow.

Tears threatened.  I’m at work.  Not cool.

And then I was blogging on the other site (my fitness blog) and adding a picture to it and there was my husband’s face.  His glorious, handsome, full of love, face.

And tears again.

Dammit.

I’m 24 days away from my wedding.

I’m so in love with my fiance. I am looking forward to spending my life with him.

And I am incredibly lucky that he understands that the grief storms do not in any way diminish those two statements.

6 years out. I’m coming up on my hell month – the time between Mark’s birthday and his death day.  And all the dates in between.  And I quite deliberately stuck my wedding date in there.

Because grief storms happen.

Grief happens.

Love happens.

Joy happens.

And I don’t want all my life to be about the grief and the sadness.

I am ok with it when it shows up, like tonight but in the end, I want to celebrate life. His life, my life, my new life, my old life.

I want to celebrate who I am and how far I’ve come.

I miss him. I love him. And he is forever a part of me.

And I am happy in life.

Happy Anniversary!

It amazes me how many people I know that got married 18-22 years ago.

How many of them are still married.

How many of them are posting recently on Facebook about how they’re so happy to be celebrating their 18th, 19th, 20th, 21st, or 22nd anniversary and I love you SOOOOOO much.

How many of them I want to punch.

How much I want to cry about it.

Happy fricken anniversary.

It would have 18 years for me and Mark on Aug 21.

We *almost* got 13.

And I’m getting married to a new and amazing man soon-ish.

And I still want to tell all of them to STFU.

Don’t get me wrong.  I AM happy for them. I just want them to STFU about being happy about their anniversary when I didn’t get it.

Yep, totally selfish.  I wouldn’t actually tell them that though – I just send them a happy anniversary and move on.

But dammit.  Could you STOP with all the in-your-face love-y dove-y crap for a month or so?

kthxbai.

Mar & Jane Wedding

 

The Patient who Died

In my very short nursing career (super short! I’m not yet a licensed nurse!!) I have been a part of 3 deaths.  3 deaths over 2 years of theory and clinical.

Two were very expected.  The patients were on palliative care orders, they’d had a decline and death was expected.  I cried a little, moved on and continued my day without much pause.

The third and last (latest?) was not.

He wasn’t expected to die.

His death was not only unexpected, it was unusual and traumatic.

An artery blew and he bled out. He was my patient. I had sat him up for breakfast, and 45 minutes later I was walking by to get another patient a drink and saw him slumped over.

His bed was covered in blood and non-responsive.

I discovered this.

I didn’t respond well – there were things I didn’t do that I should have, and there were things I shouldn’t have done that I did.

I learned so very much from that man’s death.

I walked out of the room as they were continuing the code and thought to myself… what did I miss? What didn’t I do right? What could I have done differently?

The answers?

Don’t leave the patient.
Hit the emergency button.
Put oxygen on the patient.
Open the IV to run a bolus.
Look for the bleed.

The last two are probably interchangeable. Stopping the bleed is important but getting volume back into the patient is important as well.

So I learned.

And now… the grief has hit me again and again.

I talk about it, and I cry. I think about it, and I cry. I’m blogging about it, and I cry.

It was the first traumatic death I’d experienced. And in the words of the nurse who was working with me… it was VERY traumatic.

My husband’s death wasn’t traumatic like that. It’s not reminiscent. It’s only reminiscent in that it wasn’t an expected death. We expected Mark to get better.  He didn’t. I expected the patient to get better.  He didn’t.

I am grieving over this patient who’s name I don’t fully remember (just remember his first name) and his death.

People tell me it’s normal. That I will learn to adjust. That it will stay with me. That I learned from it and from this point on, I will ALWAYS remember to check my emergency equipment, hit the emergency button and put oxygen on a patient who is suddenly not stable.

But I’m grieving.  And I’m sad. And I suppose it will eventually be a part of me. I’ve also been told that if I wasn’t compassionate and caring – I wouldn’t feel this. But in the meantime…

I grieve.  For the man who’s last name I can’t remember. For his dog.  For the children who lived across the country. For a death that shouldn’t have happened even though I know that there probably wasn’t anything anyone could have done differently to change the outcome.

The images in my head flash randomly.  The memory of his voice haunts me. And I grieve.

 

Not as Bad

Things aren’t as bad as they were last year.  The pain of missing him is still there, and the grief storms hit on occasion, but I don’t have that overwhelming depression.

Things are better.

Things continue to get better.

There has been no cutting nor has there been a desire to cut.  There IS a desire to not do anything or go anywhere, but I’m committed to doing things and so therefore… I do them.

I’m not dying inside. I miss him.  But it’s not killing me this year.

Almost 5 years… and I’m doing okay this year.  So far.

Grey's Anatomy

Sucker For Punishment

I read the Facebook and blog posts of many of my fellow widda’s.

They all have something in common that I don’t share with them:  they avoid the triggers.

I don’t think they go out of their way to avoid them, more of a matter of if they know a movie will make them cry, they’ll choose a different movie or wait until they’re alone to watch it.

I’m different.  I deliberately, on occasion, put myself in situations where I know I’ll be triggered.

I think I do it for two reasons:

  1. I want to see how much that particular thing still affects me – am I still grieving as hard? Am I sensitized yet? Am I ready to let go of that sadness yet?
  2. I truly believe that if I allow myself to FEEL, then I won’t be caught unawares, and I wont’ be stuck in a situation where I’m bawling because I thought I was OK.

And it’s interesting how it’s evolved.

Take Twilight: Breaking Dawn Pt 2 for instance.  I blogged about this back in 2012, about 5 1/2 months after Mark died.

The theme song gets me. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. It was sent to me by a friend shortly after Mark died.  He said it reminded him of me and Mark.  So this song is played at the end of the movie.  It’s on my iPod. I listen to it a lot.  When I’m in my car, driving, unless it’s a trigger day or something that hits me… I can listen to the song and enjoy it for what it is.

If I watch Breaking Dawn Pt 2, the song makes me bawl. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

So today, I’m hanging out, and Twilight comes on.  I decide..what the hell. Haven’t seen it in a few months, lets try this again. Cue happy family, cue disgruntled vampire who goes to the mean vampires to make a complaint, cue epic fight between mean vampires and good vampires, cue happy ending.

Cue theme song… and I start bawling.

I could feel it building. I could feel it coming.

The question became… let it build, let it out and cry?  Or shut it down and change the channel.

Well.. I don’t know how bad it will be.  So lets go through the process.

And here I am.  Hiding in my bedroom while my youngest son watches my grandson while I cry and listen to that damn song again.

Clearly I am not ready to watch Twilight: Breaking Dawn pt 2 without tears.  Even after 4 1/2 years, I still break down and bawl. It is one of the things that will make me cry.

I still miss him.  So very much.  Despite how happy I am. Despite how excited I am for my future.  There are days when I just want to curl up on my bed… and submerge myself in the “fuck I miss him” feelings that overwhelm me. Because they’re always there.

I miss you Mark.