My Rings Are Missing

It’s been a while since I’ve worn my wedding ring or his wedding ring.

Yesterday, I was doing recycling.  This involves taking bags of sorted recycling to the bins, and emptying them out to the correct bins.

Each time I did that, it felt like I lost my ring in there.

Each, and every time.

My rings are missing… my fingers are naked.

I don’t understand the reason for this.  It’s a new thing – I’m used to not wearing rings.

But my rings feel like they’re missing…. I feel like I have naked hands.

Maybe I should start wearing jewelry again… I have some nice rings…


Today is 23 months.  One month until 2 years.   It’s really been almost 2 years.  I can’t believe it.  It seems so surreal.

Memorial Boys

Stupid Triggers


Being a widow sucks.

Having someone you love die on you sucks.

Being triggered by a freaking movie you’ve ALREADY FUCKING SEEN and you KNOW WTF HAPPENS sucks more.




I’m supposed to be ENJOYING this movie and instead I’m in a major panick attack and being hit by a massive grief wave over something that happens in it.

I’m almost freaking crying.

Over an action movie.


Being a widow fucking sucks.

Death sucks.


I’m Afraid

Not always.  Not in general.  Just about certain things.

My new man works a swing shift – 4 on, 4 off, days then nights.   He’s flipping into nights and this means that he stays up as late as possible the night before his first night shift so he’s not exhausted that first shift.

Usually he comes to bed around 2 or 3am.

Sleeps most of the day.

Goes to work.  And back into the night shift.

Last night, he kept himself up all night.

As in, I woke up alone.

I panicked.   Where was he?  Was he ok?  Did he fall asleep on the couch?  Was he still awake?  Did something happen to him??

That’s the real root of the fear – that I’d go to the living room and discovered he’d died while I was sleeping.

I didn’t want to face the fear of losing him.  Of being a widow (not that we’re married) AGAIN.  Of having to tell boys AGAIN that their dad had died.

I couldn’t face it.  So I went back to sleep for 15 mins more.

I woke up, and he still wasn’t there.

I panicked again.

And lay there, knowing I’d have to get up.  Knowing I’d have to face whatever was out in my living room.  Knowing that I couldn’t avoid it any longer because I either needed to get ready for work or tell work that I wasn’t coming in.

Yeah – my brain went there – the what would I have to do if he was dead out there.

As a side note – its amazing to me how fast my brain processes these thoughts.  The what will I do, how will I cope, who has to be informed.

All within a minute or two.

I got up – he’s sitting in his chair playing video games.

Relief flooded through me, and I immediately started berating myself about going down that thought process.

It wasn’t like I chose it though – it was just THERE when I woke up alone.

I kissed his forehead, got ready for work and sent him to bed.

I hate being afraid.  I hate fearing something that i have no control over.

I was, however, incredibly grateful to find he’d just stayed up all night.

Death changes you in ways you don’t expect.   Things I never thought of before, are now intruding into my thoughts and causing me to panick.

All because he died.

Life Is Short

Panicky Feelings

When does the panick stop?

After my husband had his heart attacks, I panicked for about a year.  The phone needed to be on my person and accessible at all times, there were numerous check in texts and phone calls and I stressed if I didn’t get a response from him or hear from him when expected.

After about a year, the panick slowly released it’s stranglehold on me.  I stressed less and less and learned to live with uncertainty again.

2 1/2 years after that – when we’re all “ok” my husband went into the hospital.  Again, the panick of not being able to be reached, the stress of having to keep the phone on me at all times, the worry that this illness or that illness will finally kill him.

And then he died.

My son is sick right now with influenza.   When I left for work, I could hear him snoring – I knew he was ok.   On my drive home for lunch however (this is a 5 minute drive, mind you) I started to panick.

What if his fever spiked and he died in the 4 hours since I’d left for work?  What if he was laying there and I never got to say good bye?  How would I handle my baby’s death? (he’s 12)  What if he was DEAD????

Not really productive – and my relief was overwhelming when I walked in my house and he’s watching TV in the basement.

But I want to know… when will the unreasonable, irrational panick stop?

He’s a healthy 12 year old boy.  I know that bad things happen to healthy boys – a friend of mine almost lost her son to an unidentified brain infection.

My husband’s illness and passing was not expected.

Healthy people get sick and die suddenly.

I want to move past that panick.  I want to not wonder if my child is DEAD because he’s got influenza.

Friends who are on the same journey – how long before the panick subsides? How long before my child with a fever won’t have me worried that he may not survive?

How long before I can breathe easily?

Death Leaves A heartache

Unavoidable Triggers

What the fuck?

I’m at work.  I shouldn’t have to hear anything that may trigger me.  Nothing.  We talk about our lives somewhat but the workplace… well, we’re supposed to keep private lives out of it.

So I’m sitting here and two co-workers are gabbing at the desks across from mine.  Clearly in my hearing range.  Neither knows my story.  Neither knows what I went through other than my husband was sick, in ICU for 159 days and died.

One co-worker is talking about her husband’s ICU experience.

I’m listening to her.  I can’t help it.  I can’t NOT hear her.  There’s no where for me to go.

She’s talking about how her husband was hooked up to life support.  How he would squeeze her hand.  And how he’d respond when she talked about boobs.


Way back when – the story I told everyone was about how when Mark first came out of his coma – he would only respond to me when I asked him if he wants to see my boobs.

I am sitting here, frozen, trying desperately to get some of this emotion out before I fall apart completely.

Can’t breath.  Tears pricking against my eyes.  Mouth shut tightly against the grief that wants to burst forth.   Nose starting to run because I get snotty when I cry.

And all I want to do is un-hear, un-remember, un-feel what I’m feeling right now.

Lunch isn’t for another hour.  I have to hold it together until then.

I have to pull my focus out of the memories and the fog that has enveloped me and try to concentrate on the job at hand.

I wish I could go back to that time.  I wish I could hug him one more time.  I wish I could kiss him one more time. I wish, just for a minute, that I could hold him and hear his voice and see the look on his face when I kiss him senseless…

I wish he could Beam Me Up.

January 2010 036


I dreamed about him the other day.  Woke up in a very unstable mood.  I don’t know what the dream was about but I know he was there.  I wish I could remember it more clearly.


Way To Trigger Myself

Facebook time while watching Walking Dead.

I’m catching up with my Questies.

I’m perusing my friends’ walls.

My friend Roxanne posts this link about Arthur.

That was an amazing transformation.

It was inspiring.

I first saw it when Mark was in the step-down unit.  I showed it to him.  Showed him what he could do.  Showed him that the world was his for the taking – that he was not going to be beaten down by this last setback.

Fuck why can’t my brain shut up when I remember something?  One memory leads to another which leads to another, which leads to… fuck.  Triggered.

Did it to myself.


Twisty.  Sucker punched.  Can’t catch my breath triggered.




All because a post (and I didn’t even watch it) bumped a memory to the top.

Arthur’s transformation IS amazing.  I wish it had been Mark’s.

Arthur's Transformation

He’s Everywhere…

I’ve been apathetic about much of my life lately.

Not interested in crafting.

Not interested in exercising.

Not interested in going out.

Not interested in cleaning my house.

Not interested in finishing up the projects around my house.

Not interested in much of anything.

Don’t get me wrong, there are things that make me smile, things that make my heart sing, people who light up my life.

But I’m having problems engaging, having problems pulling out of the fog lately.  It feels like it did closer to the beginning.   Fogged, unclear, brain frazzled.

I look around my house and no matter how much I change, he’s here.  This was HIS house.  The Jeep is HIS.  The van was HIS.  The kitchen was HIS domain.  HIS stuff is in my craft room.  HIS presence is in my bedroom.  He’s everywhere.  He’s even at my job.  The reminders of all that was him… everywhere.

It’s overwhelming… the constant missing him, the constant reminders of him, the constant awareness of the “lack” of him.   The more I change, the more I am aware of how much I have lost.   There’s a hole, a darkness, a blackness that permeates all that is our lives.

We find joy in small moments… a walk, a snuggle, laughing at a movie… but always in the back of my mind is the awareness that he’s. not. here.

I will have to change something… most likely there will be a move coming up in my near future… I have to start fresh, make a life that creates the future of me and my boys together… without their Dad.

Somewhere we can have the memories without the overwhelming presence.  Somewhere we can start fresh.

Mark in Fruitvale


I know he’s waiting for me on the other side.  I know he keeps an eye on me now.  I know he’s around… because it hurts so much to be at home.  The reminders are constant, there is no relief from it, no “happy place” where I’m not a widow, where I’m not reminded of all that I lost.

I need to find that.  No matter what that looks like, I need a place I can be where I can grieve when I need to, but enjoy the rest of my life.