.......................Suddenly a Widow

I Couldn't Stay Away

2012-01-05T21:04:00.002-06:00

Hello,

It's been a while since I signed off this blog and while I still agree with all of my reasons to stop writing, I have really missed expressing myself here and being in touch with those of you who stop by to share your thoughts and experiences. I feel like I walked away from my support group and I really miss you all. So I'm back and I'll write whenever I have something to say so the emotions don't just bottle up inside, where they aren't doing me any good.

My sons and I have been fine over the past few months. Honestly, the boys are doing well. I'm just fine. Dylan now has his learner's license and drives most places we go. Austin loved driving and that love has totally been passed on to his son. Aidan started guitar lessons in the fall and he is loving every minute of it, sharing his Dad's passion for music and the guitar. They have both signed on for an exciting sailing adventure next summer, continuing their love of sailing. And while they both continue to find their Dad in themselves, they also continue to develop as two unique and delightful individuals who have their own passions, great senses of humour and compassion for others. They also continue to be normal teenagers in every sense of the word! Austin would be as proud of them as I am, and as exasperated at times :)

I continue to be busy with only parenting, working full time, being a part time student and trying to keep our house in order. I also try to be a supportive family member and friend, which I'm not very good at these days. I tend to not have much extra energy to devote to being a friend and the expectation seems to be that I'm back to "normal" and can just pick up where I left off. But for the most part I can't and I don't have the time or energy to find a new normal. I tend to be anti-social these days, which probably isn't great for me but I'm doing what I can with the limited time I have available.

We went away for Christmas to my sister's in Edmonton; it was fun to be in a city for the first time over the holidays. There were lots of things to keep us busy and we had a nice Christmas. Then my sister and I went to New Orleans for New Years and as a belated celebration of her birthday. New Year's Eve 2011 would have been mine and Austin's 16th anniversary and I wanted to do something fun and different on the day. I really couldn't afford to go away and I'll be paying for the trip for quite a while but I went and I enjoyed my time away with my sister, discovering a city that is recovering from its own tragedy. Like New Orleans, I am healing. It's been almost three years, but I'm making a little progress towards the future.

When we went to Hawaii with my family for Christmas 2009, the year Austin died, I was simply going through the motions and I spent New Years Eve under the covers of my hotel bed. I wanted to go to Margaritaville (Austins favorite singer was Jimmy Buffett but he never did get the opportunity to go to Margaritaville) but I couldn't bare the thought of being there with anyone so I went for a short visit by myself one afternoon. I had a mini anxiety attack but I was there for a few minutes and actually bought a few souvenirs. Fast forward two years to New Orleans. My sister and I went to Margaritaville together and we had dinner there on what would have been my anniversary. It was great food and the atmosphere was fun - Austin would have loved it! We then went to the store and I bought more souvenirs. I enjoyed my time there, but by the end of dinner and shopping I had a mini anxiety attack and just needed to be by myself for a while. After some solo time in the hotel room just being alone with my thoughts and memories, we walked a block down crazy Bourbon Street and we went down to the Mississippi River for midnight. I had fun, which was a lot more than I had three years ago on my first anniversary without Austin.

But as I reflect on the trip and the last few months, I realize that I'm still not living life in full colour. When Austin died, the colour drained away from my life and everything became black and white. As the first and second years passed, muted pastel colours started to very gradually seep into my field of view. Smiles and laughter eventually came back in small doses and the boys and I continued to live our new existence with the big black hole of Austin's absence always around. The black hole has reduced in size a little but the colours of my life are still muted. Nothing is ever great or excellent. Things are fine, even good at times, but never over-the-top wonderful. And that makes me sad. I was in a wonderful city with my wonderful sister and yet Austin's absence clouded my experience there. He would have loved New Orleans and I would have had a wonderful time with him there. I only had a good time with my sister, through no one's fault. I tried to feel wonderful but it just wouldn't come.

So what's the point of trying to find wonderful? I feel like I've reached the peak of reinserting colour into my life after Austin's death. I can't see it getting better than this. Living without Austin means I'm stuck with fine and good. When he died, great, excellent and wonderful went with him. But I'm choosing to be grateful for fine and good and nice. Because those things are still positive in my life and to be honest, I don't feel like I have room for great, excellent and wonderful. Vibrant colours in my life would overwhelm me right now. Maybe one day they'll find their way back into my world....

I hope that 2012 brings all of us a little bit of colour and wonderful. We all deserve a little joy, if we can figure out how to find it.

Goodbye to Sudden Widow

2011-08-03T17:09:00.002-06:00

I just wanted to let you all know that I am closing down this blog. Thank you to everyone who has read my posts and has taken time to leave a comment. Your comments have always helped me move forward in my healing process and I am so grateful for every word I've read. This blog, and all its readers, have been my support group. Thank you so much for all your support. I will miss you on this blog.

But I am no longer a Sudden Widow. I have been a widow for almost 29 months. I miss Austin as much today as I did the horrible day he died. Actually, I miss him more. The shock has totally worn off and reality is harsh. I ache with the grief and I still think about him every moment of every day.

But my life must go on, for the sake of our sons and myself. Austin would want this and I don't honour our love and the wonderful memories I have by allowing myself to be swallowed in this grief. I will love Austin forever and I hope to one day find love again. But I'm not ready to even begin looking for it. What I am ready to do is to look to the future while living in the moment. I will always be surrounded by wonderful memories of Austin and the time I was lucky enough to be his best friend and wife.

I look forward to continuing to be in touch with many of you on Facebook. Our friendships are incredibly important to me and will always be significant in my life. I'm just signing off as Sudden Widow. I don't feel like that woman anymore. I'm a widow, but I'm so much more than that broken woman who first wrote back in April of '09. I'm back to being Debbie. It's a new version of me, but me all the same. Thank you for taking this part of my journey with me. You have helped me in more ways than you know.

Bye for now.

Only Parenting

2011-06-18T10:52:00.000-06:00

Hello out there. Yes, I'm still here. Life is still a whirlwind as we wind down the school year and wind up the yard work now that summer has arrived. Grief is still my constant companion but it has become more manageable on a daily basis. I miss him when I wake up and wish he was beside me as I get ready to face the day. I miss him all day long, as I go about my life. And I miss him when I go to bed, when I really would like to talk to him, to debrief our day, to feel his arms around me and just wrap ourselves in that private time that I miss so much. But lately I've realized that missing all of these things is becoming bearable. The stabbing pain that used to accompany all of the memories and the physical craving that would literally ooze from my being have become muted. It doesn't mean that I miss him any less but the pain has become endurable. The grief is like a companion that is proof of his existence, of our our love and our life.

What has been overwhelming lately is being an only parent, raising my two terrific sons without their Dad. It could be because Father's Day is almost upon us, and I can literally see my sons cringe every time they see a commercial about the upcoming dreaded day. It could be that our youngest son turns 13 on Thursday, and birthdays without Austin are paradoxically sad and joyful. But mostly I think it's because I'm feeling inadequate. Being a parent with patience and wisdom is very difficult, even when the other parent is beside you. Being an only parent of two teenaged boys is feeling overwhelming these days. I desperately miss Austin's parenting voice, the other half of the partnership who both decided on our wedding night that we were ready to be parents. We were a great parenting partnership and he was a wonderful, hands on Dad. He did everything, he loved every stage the boys were at and he jumped in with both feet from the very beginning. He was the expert at "boyhood". He knew boys, because he had been one, obviously. But then he left. And parenting without him is so damn lonely.

Don't get me wrong. I have great kids. But they're normal kids. And I really miss the partnership, the sounding board relationship, the good cop/bad cop roles of team parenting with Austin. I don't like the fact that the buck always stops with me, and only me. My sons are loved by lots of wonderful family and friends, but no one loves kids like their parents. Austin was the only other person on the planet who felt the same way I do about them. He was the only person who knows them in the way I do. And I just miss that in a deep, primal, overwhelming way.

Like most other things in this new life, there is no solution, only venting to release some of the pressure. In the core of my being, I know that my kids will be ok. I know that I have or will screw them up in some way, but I have or will bring much more positive to their lives than negative. They will grow into amazing young men. But this journey of only parenting teenage boys is extremely lonely and stressful. And amazingly rewarding and joyful. Talk about a double edged sword...

Grief Camp for Kids

2011-05-15T21:43:00.000-06:00

Last summer, while at Camp Widow, I learned about grief camps for kids. The experience was highly recommended by parents whose own children had attended. I know in my life, the relationships with fellow widows and widowers who truly get it has been life changing. I know these connections with people near and far have made and continue to make this journey easier by helping me to feel less alone, by supporting and holding me up, by cheering me on, by giving me a kick in the butt when I need it and by giving me the gift of laughter. I knew my sons needed this same experience, so I spent months making connections to try and find a quality camp as close as possible to home.

The closest Camp Erin, the nationally known grief camp for kids, is in Toronto, so I contacted them. And they found out about a camp much closer to us! I researched the camp and it looked great so we applied and the boys were accepted (they can only take 80 kids per camp, ages 5-18, and there is a waiting list every time). This weekend my sons attended Caring Hearts Camp. The boys were nervous and sure that they wouldn't enjoy the experience but I asked them to keep an open mind and only participate to the extent that they were comfortable. I dropped them off of Friday, sure that they would have some meaningful times.

I picked them up today and I am pleased to report that it was an incredible experience for both of them. They met kids their own ages who are also learning to live after the death of a parent, sibling or other close family member. They got to build friendships, share their stories, realize that they aren't alone, have a huge amount of fun and express their emotions in a supportive environment. I also heard from the organizer of the camp and a camp volunteer about how great the boys were at camp. They were caring, very willing to share their stories and experiences and were leaders. I have to admit that tears came to my eyes. I am so proud of them. They are surviving and thriving despite the death of their Dad and they are putting themselves out there to offer support to other children and teens. My tears were tears of pride. It was a nice change, to cry happy tears.

In the fall there is another camp and the boys have been asked to go. They loved the experience so much that they didn't even have to think twice. Bonds with others who get it are powerful, no matter the age of the griever. A quote the boys have on one of the things they created this weekend is "if you are old enough to love, you are old enough to grieve". Those of you who have children learning to live without someone significant in their life, I encourage you to find a reputable grief camp. I wish I had found this camp two years ago. It has changed my sons' lives for the better. What an incredible gift.

Water for Elephants

2011-05-10T07:37:00.000-06:00

I just started reading the book. I always need something to read in bed so I can get completely exhausted and finally fall asleep. At the start of the book, the main character is an old man, reflecting on his life. His wife of 61 years has died of cancer, and the following quote jumped out at me:

"Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that. Being the survivor stinks." (p. 13)

It's too early for me to know if I'll like this book, but I love that quote. Being the survivor sure does stink, and I'm glad Austin doesn't have to experience it. I've decided that in surviving, I took one for the team. Yeah me...

Motherhood

2011-05-08T17:01:00.003-06:00

Our first day as parents

Our youngest son talking to his Dad

My three guys, walking on the beach


The last picture taken of my three guys, on Austin's birthday, 16 days before he died

I wanted to have children, to be a mother, for as long as I can remember. I chose my career because it would be compatible with family life. When Austin and I first became friends, we talked about wanting to be parents. We didn't know then that we would accomplish this dream together. After we started dating and our relationship became serious, we talked more about having kids. I know that one of the reasons I fell in love with him was because he was great with kids and I knew he would be a wonderful Dad. When we decided to get married, we agreed we would try to start having kids immediately after the wedding. It wasn't even something we had to discuss because we just knew. We were both anxious to finally fulfill our dreams of parenthood.

Nine months later, Dylan was born and 21 months later, Aidan was born. I was a Mom, Austin was a Dad, and our lives were complete. Parenthood was, and is, exciting, exhausting, sweet, stressful, exhilarating, worrying, and wonderful. It is everything I'd imagined and so much more. And I was incredibly grateful to share the adventure with Austin. Our two boys are the greatest gifts we ever gave each other. I love them more than I could ever describe in words. And despite the incredibly difficult grief journey I'm on now, I wouldn't change a thing about our family's life because it produced two amazing young men. Their Dad would be so proud to see the amazing human beings that they are. And I am so proud to be their Mom.

Thank you my sweet boys, for being here, so I can be your Mom. It is my honour and my privilege to travel with you on this journey and to help you grow into the amazing men you are.

And thank you Austin, for the greatest gifts we could have ever given each other. I am not the same mother I was when our boys were born, or even just before you died. Grief has forged me into a new version of myself, but hopefully this new mother is able to combine the best of the naive "before" mother with the best of the "after" mother. I love them even more fiercely, because I'm loving for both of us. I worry more deeply, because I know what tragedy feels like. I laugh deeper and find humour in the little things, because I know how valuable that lightness is for our souls. I talk to them about the difficult, life changing stuff, to make sure that their hearts and souls are healing, though with the obvious scars. I count on them to help more around the house while still making sure they have kid time, which is developing their sense of responsibilities and their abilities. I am nurturing the talents and passions they have, some which come from you, and me, and some that are their very own. This new mother is doing her very best to be the best parent I can be for our boys. Motherhood is still the gift I knew it would be. It's just turned out differently than I thought it would, like so many things in this life...


Our tenth anniversary, on the beach in Cuba

In Need

2011-05-02T17:27:00.001-06:00

Widowhood is so difficult for so many of us. But when we look closely, most of us have a roof over our heads, have food to put on the table and don't have to worry about where our children may be sleeping in a week or two. Grief is hard enough without having to worry that our kids may not have enough to eat next week.

There is a fellow traveler on this journey of grief who is having a very difficult time right now financially. She hasn't asked for support, just positive thoughts, but she needs some extra help. We are respecting her privacy by not revealing personal details but she needs to be embraced by this wonderful community of the widowed. A few of us widdas got together (on line) to brainstorm what we can do, The result is this guest post from Jackie, on Cadi's blog http://maehegirl.blogspot.com . You can also check out Chelsea's blog, Jackie's own blog and Megan's blog.

There is a Paypal link on Cadi's blog, and if there is any way that you can donate any amount, it would be greatly appreciated.

Life is not easy for many of us. But many of us have a little extra that we can share to help others who are in much more difficult circumstances. I hope that many of you stop by Cadi's blog and help as much as you can.

If anyone knows a kind and generous lawyer in New Zealand, can you please be in touch with me, or Cadi.

Thank you in advance for your kindness.

Spring

2011-04-13T19:44:00.000-06:00

Spring has finally come to our area of the world. The melt is causing flooding everywhere, but thankfully our sump pump is working and is keeping our basement dry. We do have a lake in our backyard, but hopefully we'll get some warm weather soon to evaporate the extra water. Today was warm enough that we didn't wear jackets outside and after school we spent time cleaning out the van. I decided that the weather was so nice (for us - for some of you it would still be a little cold!), that I would barbeque supper. I sat outside for a few minutes, smelling the food on the barbeque, listening to the birds singing in the trees and enjoying sitting on deck furniture for the first time since September. It was wonderful. And then the wave of grief came, as I thought about how much I wished Austin was sitting beside me, and how much he would have loved the moment. For a few seconds I was caught in wonder about how I would actually be able to survive a spring without him. And then I realized that in fact this would be my third spring without him. My third! The grief doesn't feel any smaller than it did on that first spring without him, weeks after he died. The only difference is that I know I will survive. And this year, I'm betting we will even have some fun along the way.

Three springs without my love. I miss him as desperately as ever, which really hits me hard during the quiet times. Quiet times make room for the grief to peak through, along with the sweet memories. During quiet moments this spring, I'm being reminded that grief feels just as bad and I miss him just as much, but now I know we will survive. It still amazes me that life goes on without him, but it does.

My Rings

2011-04-05T22:11:00.001-06:00

Just over two weeks ago, on the second year anniversary of Austin's death, I took off my wedding and engagement rings for the first time. I'd been thinking about it for many months, but it never felt like the right time. For a long time after Austin died I still felt married and the rings connected me to him. They symbolized our love for each other and our commitment to each other and our family. But lately, the rings felt wrong, like I was lying to myself and the world around me. Occasionally I'd meet someone new at work, or checking out at a store and they'd say, "what a beautiful ring" or "what does your husband do?" and I'd get a pang of grief stabbing me right in the heart. Many times over the past months, during my day, I'd look down at my hand and think about the sweet days I got both of my rings, and my heart would ache. That's when I knew that the comfort I was getting from my rings was not outweighing the pain they were causing me. So I decided that on the second anniversary I would take them off. And I did, privately, and with sweet words and remembrance. But I didn't talk to anyone about it because I wasn't sure if I would keep them off. For the first day, I wore my diamond ring on my right hand to keep it close, but it didn't feel right, so I put it away with my wedding ring. My left hand felt naked so I moved the beautiful ring that Austin carved for me many years ago from my right hand (where it's been since 1997) to my left hand. And it strangely feels right.

I will always love him and I would give anything to have him back, but the truth that I've come to realize is that I am no longer married. I am a widow. He is not coming back, and wearing my wedding rings don't make him any more real. In fact, I had reached a point where they made me feel worse. They lost their ability to comfort me, so it was time to put them away. I may bring them out every once in a while to wear again, if I feel I need or want to, but today I feel more at peace wearing the ring Austin made me on my left hand. Our wedding rings and my engagement rings (there are two - it's a bit of a story) are put away as touchstones when I need them and for my boys when they get to that stage in their lives, if they want them. I oddly feel at peace with this, which I've come to learn means it is the right time to make this change.

It has been said before that the one constant in life is change, and that remains true in widowhood. Finding the time when change feels right, or when staying the same is more uncomfortable than changing has been the key to making change that works for me. For me, this is just one more step into the future, but not one more step away from him. He's still with me and cheering me on. I sure wish it was in person...

The Journey

2011-03-27T09:31:00.002-06:00

I have been reading a new, heartbreaking and beautifully written blog called "Journeying". It's written by Gillian, a fellow Canadian, who was in a horrific car accident with her family just after Christmas. Tragically her husband was killed and her four children seriously injured. Gillian and her kids are finally back home after months of hospitalization but three of her four kids still have a ways to go before they will be fully mobile on their own. If you'd like to check out Gillian's blog, you can find it here http://gillianb-journeying.blogspot.com/ .

When I read her latest post this morning, I was reminded of a story/analogy I read early in my widowhood. I found it on a grief message board and it really helped me understand what this journey would be like. Ironically, it is called "The Journey". I don't know who wrote it (if you do, please let me know so I can give them credit) but I wanted to share it today, in case anyone new on this journey needs some hope. Those of us not so new on this journey may still find meaning in it.

The Journey

"Before we go through a loss like this, we assume that grief is like falling into a deep hole. We think we will start climbing a ladder and as we get closer to the top things start getting brighter and brighter and we keep feeling better and better until we finally step out into the sunshine where the birds are singing and beautiful music is playing and our grief is over and we are then officially “over it”.

Instead, I have found it is like being plunked down into the middle of a mountain range. We start on the top, with the breathtaking view, when life is wonderful. We are just walking along, basking in the sun and the beautiful scenery when suddenly we fall off a cliff. Now we are lying in a deep, deep valley: bruised, confused, hurt, scared, and lonely. We soon realize that there is no easy way out, no rescue in sight. The only way out is to do it ourselves. So we start working our way up the mountainside, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling, and often stumbling. It is very hard, very discouraging, and very exhausting work. Finally we reach the top and see the sun again for a while. Maybe the top will be flat and we’ll get to spend a little time up there enjoying it, or maybe it is very steep and as soon as we get there we have to start back down the other side into the next valley again.

The one thing we notice is that there are mountains as far as the eye can see. Somehow, we have to make our way through them if we are ever to get out. That thought can be overwhelming and cause us to give up for a while. But eventually we realize once again that the only way out is to keep going, so we start again: down one mountain and up the next. And sometimes on the journey, after a particularly hard stretch, we think, “I’m so glad I finally made it through that.” And then we stop and look around and realize that we’ve been here before! All this work and we’ve gone in a circle and we’re going to have to do it all again! And sometimes as we are climbing, we look up to see if we are getting any closer to the top, and we see a boulder heading our way. If we are fortunate, we manage to avoid it. But usually we can’t, and it hits us head on and sends us tumbling back down to the bottom.

Sometimes when we are in the deepest part of the valley, we just sit, exhausted. And we might notice some things around us that we never saw before: flowers and animals and a gentle breeze in the cool of the valley. There is a world down in the valley that we never even knew existed, and there is beauty in it. And sometimes at night, when all is quiet, we can hear the others who are in the valley weeping. And it is then that we realize that we are not alone, that others are making this journey too. And we realize that we share an understanding of the journey and of the world of the valley that most others don’t. And it gives us strength to start the climb all over again.

Sometimes as we are climbing the mountain, a helicopter may come by with some of our friends in it. Seeing us struggling up the mountain, they shout encouraging things like, “I know just what you’re going through; I went on a hike once.” And “at least you have other children to get you through this” And “You are so strong; I know I couldn’t make this climb.” Or they ask, “When will you finally get over these mountains and be yourself again?” And we try to tell them about the journey and the world of the valley, but the sound of the helicopter drowns us out and they can’t hear us. They throw down some food to give us energy, and it does, but some of it just pelts us on the head and makes the climb even harder. And then they leave, and we breathe a sigh of relief that we can get back to our climb in peace.

As we make this journey, we start to notice that we are becoming a little bit stronger. When we get to the rough patches we now see that we are shaken but don’t always fall. We find that sometimes we can walk upright now, instead of just crawling. And sometimes we can see a rough spot ahead and manage to find a better way around it. And once in a while we crest a mountain and see that the top is very flat and very beautiful, and we get to spend quite a while resting and recovering on the top before starting down again. And we notice that we are getting closer to the edge of the mountains; they seem to be getting a little smaller. The mountains are not as tall, and the valleys are not as low or as wide. In fact, we can now see the foothills, and it gives us hope.

And throughout this journey, we see the others who are traveling it as well, sometimes at a distance, and sometimes up close. And we encourage each other to keep going and to watch out for certain things. We talk about the journey and the world of the valley. Finally, someone else who understands! And we cry together when it is just too hard. And sometimes, we catch a glimpse of someone who has made it to the foothills. And we are so excited for them, and we become even more determined to keep going because someday, we too, will make it to the foothills.

So my point is this: everyone starts on a different mountain. No two journeys are the same. Some people spend a lot of time in the valley at first, and some have more time on top of the mountain. But we will all be both on the mountains and in the valleys. And we will all someday make it to the foothills. I promise."

Now that I'm two years and seven days into this trip, the helicopter part really jumped out at me. I was nodding my head and even giggling a little at the description when I read it this morning because I've had moments like those in my life (even when friends don't say things out loud, they can be implied). When I first read this story, a few weeks or months after Austin died, I wasn't giggling at parts. I guess that means I've made progress on my own journey. I can see the foothills. They are still far in the distance, but I can see them. I so appreciate all the time I get to spend with all my widow and widower friends, in person and online. You have made this journey easier by helping me to understand that I am not alone. Shared understandings have been the greatest gifts along my journey. I look forward to hanging out in the foothills with you one day!

Two Years

2011-03-20T07:51:00.001-06:00

Sunday morning. It used to be my favorite day of the week. I'm sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee in Austin's favorite mug, the boys are still asleep and I'm remembering. There's nothing like a quiet house and the smell of one of Austin's favorite beverages (scotch was the other favorite, but he didn't drink that in the mornings :), to surround me in sweet and painful memories. Today, at 11:45 am central time, it will be two years since Austin died. Two years, 730 days, 730 nights, 17 523 hours (including the extra 3 hours that he was still alive but unconscious) since I last looked in his eyes, heard his voice, felt his touch. I know that all of you who are living this know how time plays tricks on us; it feels like it's been an eternity since he was here and at the same time feels like he's only been gone for a few minutes. Memory and love keep him close. But time moves him further away.

So we enter year 3. Un - fricking - believable. Truly.

I've come to really appreciate the poem below. I imagine that if Austin could talk to me now, this would be something along the lines of what he'd say. As I read it, I hear his voice and it helps me to keep moving forward.

All is Well

I have only slipped away into the next room.

I am I, and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort,
Without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and
unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you,
for an interval,
Somewhere very near,
Just around the corner.

All is well.

By Henry Scott Holland.

In loving memory of Austin James Thomas. He loved his family and friends, sailboats, art, scotch, music, building things, road trips, teaching, and adventure. He was a true Renaissance man. We love him and miss him more than words can describe.

"The song is ended, but the melody lingers on..."

Irving Berlin

The Circle of LIfe

2011-03-17T19:32:00.000-06:00

In 3 days we will mark two years since Austin died. And last week we welcomed a new life into our family. My sister and her husband are the proud parents of a sweet baby boy, who joins his sister to make their family complete. And the shadow of grief is lifted a little by the light of new life, new joy and new possibilities.

When my new nephew was born last Tuesday, it naturally made me think about the days when my two babies were born. I remember how Austin and I were amazed that we had made these beautiful human beings together. I remember thinking how perfect life was and how we were so lucky to have the rest of our lives ahead of us. I remember being so full of hope and love. I never thought that the rest of our lives together would be so much shorter than we ever imagined.

But I also didn't even think about the fact that while our babies were coming into the world, others were leaving it. When we felt so much joy in our lives, we didn't have room to think about grief that others were feeling. And when we are the ones with overwhelming grief, we don't have room for any possibility of joy. But the circle of life continues to turn and moves us forward, toward an unknown future. All we can count on is today, this minute.

Austin's death showed me that, but I was too overwhelmed and solely focused on survival. I couldn't live the lesson then. With the birth of my nephew, almost two years later, I was ready to take the lesson to heart. For the first time in two years I felt joy: joy for my sister and brother-in-law, joy for my family, joy for the boys and I. My nephew's new life has reminded me that life indeed goes on. Joy returns and can exist at the same time as we grieve loss. The circle of life...birth and death. Once we've survived the death of a great love, birth seems even sweeter.

Welcome to the world sweet little Thomas. I so look forward to meeting you! I know you have an uncle in heaven who is smiling down on you....

Cell Phone Call and Unexpected Gifts

2011-03-13T11:07:00.000-06:00

The boys and I spent last Saturday with my sister, skiing at a small ski hill. We were there to remember Austin's birthday and spend some time outdoors having fun. Our school goes to the ski hill once a year and Austin enjoyed many ski days there, often skiing in shorts at the end of warm March days. We have good memories of times spent on the hill and we enjoyed our day. But a very strange thing happened early afternoon.

As I reached the end of a run, after wiping out twice and realizing that I needed to take a break before I broke something, my cell phone rang. I answered, but couldn't hear anything with my helmet on and asked the caller to just wait a moment while I took off my helmet. When I got back on the phone a vaguely familiar man's voice said hi and asked to speak to Austin. For a moment I was confused and didn't say anything.

The man introduced himself as an old friend of Austin's, which is why I found his voice to be familiar. I met him once, a long time ago, but we had talked on the phone and I knew how important he and Austin were to each other when they were younger. They kept in touch sporadically over the years and when Austin died I sent his friend a letter and a copy of the obituary when I couldn't get a hold of him by phone. I always thought it was strange that I never heard from him.

So last Saturday, on the ski hill, in the snow, I was confused. Didn't he get my letter? And I realized that when he sounded equally confused on his end, he hadn't. He didn't know. I just told him that I was sorry, that I'd tried to get in touch with him, but Austin had died almost two years ago. I felt the sorrow and grief in his voice and for a moment it was like Austin had just died, again. He kept telling me how sorry he was, that he'd been ill and had moved, which is why he never got my letter, and he apologized for the fact that he'd left Austin a happy birthday message on our home answering machine. I felt bad for him, not knowing for so long that his old friend from an era gone by was dead.

In our slightly stunned conversation, I invited him to call me when the boys and I got home again so we could talk. I'm sure he has questions. And just talking to someone who knew Austin in a different time makes me feel closer to him for just a moment. Selfishly, I hope his friend calls just once, so we can both reconnect with Austin one last time.

When Austin died, everyone I knew told me how sorry they were. I knew they felt bad for the boys and I, but I was in such a state of shock that I never appreciated that many of them were missing Austin and grieving his death. This week, Austin's friend gave me a gift. As he kept repeating how sorry he was, I just kept thinking how sorry I was for him in his new grief of a lost friend. I reassured him that the boys and I were ok. For a moment, I wasn't focused on my grief. I was able to put myself in the position of comforter, not the widow needing comforting. And though it was short lived, it felt good to be in reversed roles.

I also appreciate another gift I was given on the ski hill. I answered a phone and a friendly voice on the other end asked for Austin. That hasn't happened in almost two years, and it probably won't happen again. For a moment, it took me back to my life before, when I still believed in happily ever after.

Happy Birthday

2011-03-04T09:35:00.001-06:00

Today is Austin's birthday. He would have been 59. He was 15 years older than I, and he appeared to be younger he was. He was 44 and 46 when our kids were born and he was thrilled to finally be a Dad. He used to joke with the boys that they needed to get married in their early 20's so he would be able to enjoy being a Grandpa, due to his age. But he always said he was going to live to be 100...

Last year we spent his birthday the way we spend every weekday, going to work and school. We talked about his birthday but since he wasn't here to celebrate it didn't dawn on me that we should take time to do whatever seemed right. Last year my mind was completely focused on March 20th, the one year anniversary of his death. I was planning a small get together with good friends to remember Austin and share memories and honour the day he left our lives. But his birthday unexpectedly hit me very hard. I remember being at school and holding back a wall of grief all day, while tears leaked out in moments I was alone to relieve the building pressure. When I got home that day, I let it all out in a major sobfest. He wasn't there to celebrate the day he was born, and I was devastated.   I was also surprised that it hit me so hard since I didn't think I could miss him any more than I already did.

This year, year two, we are approacing March 4th and March 20th differently. Today, I have taken the day off work and pulled the kids out of school. We are going to celebrate Austin's birthday in a low key way, by going skiing. I wanted to get away and not just sit around the house but it needed to be somewhere close by that wasn't going to cost a lot of money. So we'll go to a small, local ski hill where Austin spent some fun days over the years skiing with the students (including our sons) from our school. Getting outside and away from home will be good, I hope, for all three of us. My sister and dear friends are joining us. We'll raise glasses of scotch in a toast to Austin tonight (very small glasses since I don't appreciate scotch nearly as much as he did) and remember all the blessings that he brought to our lives just by being him. March 20th will be spent very low key this year, probably with me under the covers for much of the Sunday morning.

We've decided we don't want to focus on the day he died, but the day he was born. It's fairly easy since the days are fairly close together. And this year it feels right to focus on his life, not on his death.

Which leads me to wonder, what is the best way to honour the life of someone we love who has died? The first Father's Day we wrote on balloons and released them into the sky, symbolically sending him messages to heaven. We've had social gatherings, toasts and shared stories when we spread his ashes and later when we remembered the one year anniversary of his death. I've written to commemorate certain dates, on this blog, in journal and in cards that I've bought for Austin. We've toasted him with champagne on our anniversary. I've bought myself the same chocolates that he bought me on our first Valentine's Day. We've watched video of him to hear his voice and see his body in motion and relive sweet memories, like the arrival of our babies. But I never feel like I've completely honoured him in a way that feels complete. I want a definitive way of honouring my dead husband, one that makes me feel like we've done it right.   But I've come to realize that a right way of honouring him doesn't exist. Because in the end, he's still dead.

So we're off to do our best today, to honour the day he was born and the blessings he brought to our lives.

And I'm wondering, have any of you done anything on those special days that come around to honour your loved one which you'd like to share?

*******************************************************************************

Happy Birthday, my love. I love you to infinitely and beyond. I wish you were here to celebrate with us. But we will celebrate without you, in our own subdued way, because you brought so many blessings to our lives and you deserve to be celebrated.

Tired

2011-02-27T23:45:00.003-06:00

We've been on a school holiday this week and thanks to my parents, who took the boys snowboarding and stayed with them at their condo on the ski hill, the boys had a wonderful holiday. I spent most of my time at my parents' house working on a course that I'm taking and getting caught up on my marking. I did appreciate having some time off from being an only parent and I accomplished a fair bit of work. But my grief was omnipresent, as always. It was even in my dreams this past week as I dreamed about Austin almost every night, which is unusual. In every dream he was dead, but we were reconnecting in some way. That sounds like it would be sweet and comforting, but it had the opposite effect as every morning I woke up exhausted, and on one occassion I was bawling, tears and snot all over my pillow. I'm now home, getting ready for us all to go back to school tomorrow and catching up on my blogs.   The Sunday blog post on Widow's Voice today struck so close to home.

Kim Hamer is the Sunday blogger on Widow's Voice and today she wrote about how tired she is of this whole widow thing. I found myself nodding my head the whole way through and crying by the end of it, seeing myself in many of her descriptions. So I thought I'd borrow Kim's words and personalize it a bit to make it my own. If you'd like to read Kim's original blog, check it out here:
http://widowsvoice-sslf.blogspot.com/2011/02/tired.html#comment-form

I'd like to thank Kim for her words. As so often happens out in the blog world, her words today explained what's going on in my life.

Austin, I’m tired of being a widow.

I’m tired of bringing the van to the mechanic when the "check engine light: visually screams at me. I remember the first time it came on. You weren't home and I panicked, calling you immediately. You calmed me down, told me not to worry about it and you handled it when you got home.  I wish I'd appreciated how significant that was. Back then, before, that was just something you did.

I’m tired of the fridge looking empty and me being responsible for getting more.

I’m tired of waking up by myself.

I’m tired of being solely responsible for:
Bringing in all the income
Paying all the bills.
Making sure the kitchen is clean.
Making sure the kids get everything they need to school on time (instruments, homework, lunches, spirit day dress up stuff, etc. etc. etc.).

I’m tired of not hearing “Daddy!”.
I'm tired of not being able to say "Check with Dad."   or "Please ask Dad to help you with that." or "Love, could you please......".

I’m tired of hearing “Mom!” from two different voices in 3 seconds.

I’m tired of being interrupted while I am trying to hear what the first "mom" yeller call was about.

I’m tired of telling people new people I’m a widow.

I'm tired of people I know giving me the "How are you doing?" sad look but rarely engaging me in conversation like they think your death may be contagious.

I'm tired of people who knew you not mentioning you, like they think it will upset me because surely I must have forgotten you, or your death, by now. I love i t when people mention your name and I wish more people would. It shows the boys and I that others think of you, just a little, and they haven't forgotten you. And that sure makes us feel better, if only for a moment.

I’m tired of going to parent-teacher conferences alone.

I’m tired of having to deal with continuing to teach the boys how to be responsible in school and in life all by myself. Sometimes I feel like if one more issue comes up I will break.

I’m tired of taking the kids to doctor’s appointments, picking up the prescriptions and administering them by myself.

I’m tired of listening for that horrible cough in the middle of the night by myself or being woken up to the sound of vomitting in the bathroom in the middle of the night, and knowing that I am completely on my own to help our sick child.

I'm tired of having to deal with medical decisions by myself. Does his swollen knee need to be looked at by a doctor or does it just need an ice pack? Do I need to get a doctor to look at his acne or just make sure he's using his facial cleaning products twice a day? What if I make the wrong choice?

I’m tired of holding our children as they cry because they want you to come back And in the next breath I wish they would cry more, so I don't have to worry that they aren't getting their emotions out like they "should".

I’m tired of my powerlessness to fix their grief, and their normal teenage problems.

I'm tired of having to decide about grief counsellors and grief camp by myself. Do they need it? Will it help? Will they be scarred for life if they don't go? Will they be scarred for life if they do?

I’m tired of trying to convince myself that they will be better people for your death.

I’m tired of my over reaction to everything. I'm tired of being grouchy, crabby and tired.

I’m tired of not knowing what will trigger sobbing.

I'm tired of the guilt I feel because our sons don't have a father and as teenagers they need your guidance and influence more than ever.

I’m tired of being awed by all that they are doing and then, in the next breath regretting that they won’t ever know the joy of looking up and seeing you smile at them after they did it.

I’m tired of  of my friends' bored voices when I need to talk. Their lives are busy, they've moved on. They know some days are hard for me, they know I miss you and I can almost hear the bla, bla, bla in what sounds like their patient listening voices.

I’m tired of having to decide important things without you here to discuss it. Should I sell the boat? What should I do about the driveway? Do we need a new vehicle, even though I can't really afford it?

I’m tired of being lonely, sitting in our living room at night and even in a room full of people.

I’m tired of writing about widowhood

I’m tired of crying.

I’m tired of missing you.

I’m tired of forgetting, in very brief moments, that you are dead.

I tired of reminding the kids to practice their instruments, do their shovelling jobs, make sure their homework is done, make sure the pets are fed.

I tired of keeping up with how things are going with friends, teachers, and all the different things each of them are interested in. I adore them, they are wonderful kids, but it can be exhausting to keep up with everything all my myself.

I’m tired of asking:
What is your homework plan?
Did you write that thank you note?
Will his parents be home?

I’m tired of fearing dates:
6 months,
1 year and now
two years dead, (in only 21 days).

Your birthday (which is only 5 days away) or
Dylan's or
Aidan's or
Or mine.

I'm tired of the boys asking questions which we used to answer together but now I'm the only holder of the memories (and your memory was often better than min). Was it a deer or an antelope that danced in front of our truck 5 years ago? What exactly happened the day they were born? How tall were they on the day you died?

I’m tired of crying in the van then getting to a place and having to check my face so I don't have black streaks running down my cheeks.

I’m tired of trying to remember if something occurred before you died or after. That's getting harder and harder and time goes on.

I’m tired of looking forward to the weekend, only to realize the weekends offer no break from the kids, from the grocery shopping, from being an only parent. And since you died on a Friday, there is no TGIF in my life anymore.

I’m tired of not having someone to tag team with.

I’m tired of not having anyone to look horrible in front of but still be loved.

I’m tired of having no one to discuss my day with.

I'm tired of missing your backrubs.

I’m tired of thinking about the energy and time it takes to get into a new relationship, yet feeling like there could never be someone who would be good enough to be allowed to enter our sons' lives. I defeat myself before I even begin.

I’m tired of wanting to be held, of needing to be touched.

I’m tired of wanting someone to take care of me, so I can have the energy to take care of everything and everyone else.

I’m tired of clean sheets and a clean body and no one to enjoy them with.

I’m tired of wishing I could see you and feel your arms around me just one more time, just one more time.

I’m tired of watching the anguish in our kid’s eyes as they miss you. I'm tired of seeing their shoulders sink when a friend or T.V. show makes reference to a father, physically deflating them.

I’m tired of writing about you.

I’m tired of talking about you.

I’m tired of telling stories about you to our kids so they can know you. Their memories are strong but memories fade as time moves on. And I want you to remain a strong presence in their lives.

I’m tired.

I am so, so, so bloody tired.

So love?

When the hell are you coming back? 'Cause I’m tired of this life without you...

Darkness

2011-02-20T10:43:00.000-06:00

Darkness

by Kirsti A. Dyer

My light and my life

provided me hope for a future,

a reason to live

and the strength to exist.

Suddenly extinguished,

taken away without warning.

I was abandoned,

left in the darkness

trying to survive

searching for any glimmer

on the distant horizon.

I stand precariously

on a piece of solid ground

barely large enough for my feet.

Around me, a vast expanse

of desolation and emptiness

for as far as I can tell.

It waits

with extending arms

to engulf and surround me

in a permanent shadow.

I remain tenuously balanced

on this small bit of solid footing

Providing me the last vestiges of hope,

Unsure where to turn

or how to find an escape.

No path in sight,

it has decayed into the abyss.

No light to guide my footsteps,

it has been withdrawn.

In complete blackness

I close my eyes

waiting to fall.

A light appears before me

no,

from within me.

I discover

a brilliance inside

An internal source of strength, power

and illumination.

This force surges through my body

filling me with courage.

I open my eyes once more in the darkness

finally lose my balance,

and descend

into the eternal night.

But in falling, I discover

that I possess wings.

With new courage, my own light,

and wings to save me

from the everlasting darkness

I take flight

high above the waiting chasm

towards a faint glimmer

far on the horizon

and hope.

from: http://www.journeyofhearts.org/kirstimd/darkness.htm

Grief: What a surprise, it's back

2011-02-16T22:21:00.001-06:00

My life has been very busy lately and I have been thinking that things are going ok for the boys and I. We are still missing Austin and talking about him but living life. We're trying to count our blessings and focus on the positive. Then last night, I couldn't get to sleep. I was restless, like I haven't been in a long time. I stayed up too late because I knew I needed to be really tired before I went to our bedroom. I could sense that I couldn't face our bed if I wasn't exhausted. So I stayed up watching waste of time T.V. until I could no longer keep my eyes open. After heading to bed, I turned down the sheets and arranged the pillows so I could sort of pretend that Austin was there, hugging the pillows like I used to hug him. That usually brings me a little comfort so I can sleep. But last night it didn't bring me the comfort that it usually does and I just started sobbing. It was an ugly, snot producing wail like I haven't released in a while. When I had exhausted my grief, I didn't feel a little relief at the release like I usually feel. I just felt overwhelmingly sad, and I prayed that Austin would find me in my dreams. He didn't.

I woke up with puffy eyes and had to get going earlier than usual because I was off to a meeting. I was looking forward to the day, away from the school where Austin and I spent so much time together. My days at school are good but once in a while grief shows up. I love having memories of Austin around me at work but sometimes I need a break from my grief and being in new surroundings with new people can offer me a little grief escape once in a while. But unfortunately today wasn't a break at all.

The day started off with us getting to know our fellow meeting members. We had to learn about the people around us and find similarities and differences. One example of similarities the meeting leader gave was spouses. Off-hand comments about husbands shot to my core. I didn't want to have to start my day discussing the fact that I'm a widow. Luckily I didn't have to because the people I worked with already knew about Austin. But the lump in my throat remained. As people were introduced, one male teacher was introduced as an artist and musician, just like Austin. He was about the same age as Austin would have been, and I just found myself missing him even more, wishing he was sitting with me in the room as he very well may have been had he not died. Then somebody mentioned how they were artistic and loved to doodle through meetings, as Austin did at every meeting we attended. His meeting minutes were famous for the beautiful doodlings that were done in every blank space on the page. I still have a few that I kept that make me smile. But by this point in my current meeting, I started to feel overwhelmed.

Thankfully I got a bit of a break until lunch. When I left the meeting room to take a stretch and a walk, a man walked past me me wearing the same shirt that Austin used to wear frequently to school. Ok, it wasn't the exact same shirt because Austin's shirt is now part of the memory quilts made by womanNshadows for the boys and I. But it was an exact replica. I for a moment I couldn't breathe.

Grief is back to being overwhelming. Is it because I didn't let grief control me for awhile? Is grief like a jealous lover or a spoiled child, who demands attention when they are ignored for too long? Did the pressure cooker of grief just reach its boiling point and spill over when there was no more room for containment? And will it always be this way, with the only difference being the amount of time between the incidents when grief demands attention and boils over? In the first weeks after Austin died, the time between atacks of grief was minutes, sometimes seconds. Months after his death it would sometimes be hours before I had to gvie grief the attention it demanded. Now, it can be days and maybe even a week or two between the wrenching, snot producing sob fests. Perhaps the future will just bring me more time between attacks of grief. Perhaps that's the best I can hope for. I don't want the grief to disappear all together because then it will mean that I'm no longer missing my husband. In my life, I'm sure I'll always have tears and moments of sadness and smiles as I remember all the sweet moments with my husband. But I could really use more time between the sob fests. I need some sleep....

Choosing a Positive Direction

2011-01-29T09:16:00.000-06:00

In case you didn't know, yesterday was the 25th Anniversary of the Challenger disaster. I remember seeing the space shuttle disintegrate before the world's eyes as a first year university student, getting ready for my first class of the day while watching the news on my little T.V. in my dorm room. I've always been a news junky and I was facinated by the idea of Christa McAuliffe, a teacher, going into space, and that was long before I became a teacher. Watching it explode in front of the whole world is something I'll never forget. My first thought was to worry about the families of the astronauts: their spouses, children, parents, siblings and friends who were going to have to figure out how to live in the shadow of the tragedy but even more significantly, how to live without their loved one. I remember reading a lot about the disaster in the days and weeks and years that followed, always searching for information about how the families were doing. Little did I know I'd be living my own version of personal tragedy 23 years later.

Yesterday morning I was watching a news report commemorating the disaster. Of course I automatically wondered how the families were doing now, a whole quarter of a century later. But this time my concern and curiousity had a much more personal angle. How were the kids, 25 years after their parents had died? How were their spouses? Did they ever find happiness again? Were they still feeling grief, a quarter of a century later?    There was no mention of family in the news report I saw, but I couldn't help but wonder and yearn for some positive information.

A young teacher was interviewed in the news report I saw. She was a student in Christa McAuliffe's school 25 years ago.  This young lady became a teacher because of Christa McAuliffe, who was obviously a major positive influence in this young woman's life. During the interview, the young teacher said something very interesting (and I'm paraphrasing here). She said that more positive has come out of the tragedy than would have existed had the Challenger never blown up. She said she felt very strongly about that. She referred to many of the things mentioned in this short Wikipedia article   ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christa_McAuliffe  ) as being positive things that emerged from the ashes of the tragedy.

I was shocked. More positive things happened in the world because a space shuttle blew up and seven people died? Really? Before March 20, 2009 I would have bought into that idea. But now I find myself really questioning the notion. I wanted to call her up and tell her not to be so dismissing, so quick with her conclusions.   People lost husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, children, sisters, brothers, friends.   I wonder if al those family members would come to the same conclusion, that it all worked out for the better (now I'm really paraphrasing, but to me that was implied). I'm curious whether people more directly affected would say the same, now that they have the benefit of hindsight, being 25 years away from the agony of the start of the journey.

Obviously we will never know what life would have been like had our loves lived. But it breaks my already shattered heart to think that my kids or I may "turn out better" because Austin died. We had a wonderful life and loving family. It is unimaginable to me that he had to die for the boys and I to reach our full potential. That seems completely wrong and disloyal and it made me angry just contemplating the idea.

But I contemplated the idea all day yesterday, to get to the root of what I really feel. And I've come to the conclusion that maybe we'll reach our potential in spite of Austin dying. Maybe the tragedy of surviving his death will indeed be his greatest gift to us that he never intended to give.

Adversity, tragedy and deep, deep sorrow have to change who we are, for good or bad. Maybe when a person survives a life altering tragedy, whether it be public or private or somewhere in between,  it is inevitable that the rest of our life is magnified in some way. And it's our decision to direct that life in a positive or negative direction. We must decide which road we'll take. Will we honour our lost love's life and their love for us by choosing positive, which will become a bigger positive energy force than would have existed if we'd just gotten to live our happy little lives in oblivion to the pain we're all feeling now? Will we choose to create the positive force, or will we choose to fall into the darkness and abyss and surround ourselves in negativity, creating a negative energy force?   I'm thinking that either way the reality is bigger than it would have been if we were still living with our heads in the sand, not realizing what was about to knock us over and take our breath away. Bigger is inevitable. We choose which direction it takes.

Choosing the positive doesn't mean we don't grieve, miss them with every breath and cry every/most days. It doesn't mean that we don't crawl into our empty beds with sadness every night, and yearn for them to be beside us. It doesn't mean that we don't talk about them constantly to try and keep their memory and character alive for our children.   It does mean that after we fall in the pit of grief and stay there for as long as we need to, we pick outselves up, dust ourselves off and attempt to move a step forward. Sometimes we move backwards for a while, but inevitably we are able to move forward again, with small little steps forward and some big steps back. And maybe, if we're given the gift of hindsight 25 years into this journey, we'll be able to come to the same conclusion as the young teacher.    It's not that we'd choose to lose them if we had the choice, but in light of the fact that we were powerless over that reality, we can reclaim our power in our lives by choosing the positive direction, in whatever form that looks like for each of us.

It reminds me of a comment I heard this week from a dear older lady who really cares about how the boys and I are doing. When she asked me a few days ago how we were doing, and I replied, as always, "fine", she said that maybe the boys will be stronger men than they would have been if Austin hadn't died, that this experience will turn them into more than they would have been without tragedy. I wanted to yell "no!" and run away. But I just smiled and went on my way. And today I'm realizing that maybe she's right. We won't waste Austin's last, unexpected gift to us. Our future is now magnified by the experience of loss. And we're going to choose the positive road, perhaps the one less travelled. It hasn't been easy, isn't easy and I know it won't be easy. But we're taking Austin's love and character with us to guide us when we're feeling lost.

Quotes and love

2011-01-26T18:49:00.001-06:00

I'm still thinking a lot about love and how it's the greatest force in the universe. And how I miss it in its physical presence... I ran across these quotes and thought I'd share them with you. They make me a little melancholy and sad, but mostly they make me smile as I remember sweet memories of Austin and I and how lucky I am to have known such beautiful, tender, passionate and fierce love in my life. If I never know another love, this love that we shared will be enough. I hope these quotes bring some sweet memories to mind for you too....

“I don't pretend to know what love is for everyone, but I can tell you what it is for me. Love is knowing all about someone, and still wanting to be with them more than any other person. Love is trusting them enough to tell them everything about yourself, including the things you might be ashamed of. Love is feeling comfortable and safe with someone, but still getting weak knees when they walk into a room

and smile at you

-- Author Unknown

“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.”

-- Judy Garland

If you count all the stars in the sky, all the grains of sand in the oceans, all the roses in the world and all the smiles that have ever been, then you will have a sample of how much I love you.

-- Author Unknown

I miss you when something really good happens, because you're the one I want to share it with. I miss you when something is troubling me, because you're the one who understands me so well. I miss you when I laugh and cry, because I know that you are the one that makes my laughter grow, and my tears disappear. I miss you all the time, but I miss you the most when I lay awake at night, and think of all the wonderful times that we spent with each other for those were some of the best and most memorable times of my life.

-- Author Unknown

Medium Series Finale

2011-01-21T21:53:00.000-06:00

http://replacetelevision.wordpress.com/2008/07/10/medium/

I have been a fan of the T.V. show Medium for years. Austin and I used to watch it every week. We both believe(d) that we are spiritual beings having a human experience. We believe(d) that there is more to existence than the life we're living right now. So we found this show interesting, and a great way to relax together, cuddling on the couch and frequently sharing some wine. In case you've never seen Medium, here's how Wikipedia describes it:

"Medium was an American television drama series that premiered on NBC on January 3, 2005, and ended on January 21, 2011. Themed on supernatural gifts, its lead character, Allison DuBois (played by Patricia Arquette), is a medium employed as a consultant for the Phoenix, Arizona district attorney's office. Allison and her husband Joe (Jake Weber) are the parents of three daughters, all of whom inherited Allison's gift. The show was initially based on the experiences of medium Allison DuBois, who claims she has worked with law enforcement agencies across the country in criminal investigations."

Tonight was the series' finale. I watched, not knowing what it would be about. I'm not going to spoil the plot, especially the ending, but here's what Patricia Arquette said about it: "This whole last episode was so sacred to me. I think it’s a great culmination, she said. Because to me, it's an episode that's really all about love, and at the end of the day, that's what our show has been about, this marriage and this love and what does all that mean." (from http://community.livejournal.com/ohnotheydidnt/55365161.html?utm_medium=twitter&utm_source=twitterfeed)

The last few minutes of the show had me bawling. If you've lost a spouse, partner, love, then I'd be willing to bet that it would be meaningful to you. It's about loss and love and it's so very real. Tonight I cried like I haven't in a long time, the ugly cry. Grief has washed over me and love is all around.

Sometimes T.V. is a waste of time, sometimes it is an escape, sometimes it touches our hearts. Tonight my soul has been touched. Love is the most powerful force in the universe. If you watch this episode, I'm curious to know if it affected you.

All You Need is Love

2011-01-18T18:53:00.002-06:00

"You Can't Take it With You." Someone said this remark today, in an off handed way, referring to money. Of course we all know you can't take money with you when you go, when you die. The saying is old and true. Austin didn't take cash or any material things with him when he died. He left behind a little money, his beloved sailboats, our children's baby books, his grandfather's war medals, his favorite books and all the other stuff that he valued when he was alive. He wasn't a materialistic man but he did have some "stuff" that was important to him, which all became insignificant as he fought to stay alive.

Austin put people above "stuff" and he also left all of us behind as he left his body and joined his parents and sister in heaven. Obviously the boys and I feel his absence the hardest. We miss his presence every moment of every day. Others who love Austin weren't with him as much, and they have the luxury of not feeling his absence every moment. But the boys and I feel that pain because we had the privilege of being with him every moment of every day for so long, so we're really the lucky ones. Besides us, Austin also left behind two brothers, a sister, his extended family, my family and very dear friends. He left us all behind in the shadow of his death, having to learn how to live without him.

You can't take it with you.... So true when it comes to money and stuff. But there is one thing that people take with them when they leave this world, and that is love. As Austin struggled to stay alive, I was allowed in the room a few times to remind him how much we loved him. I rubbed his foot as he took his last CPR induced breaths and I told him I loved him. And after the doctors said he couldn't be saved, the tubes were removed and I was left alone with the body of my husband, I held on to him and told him that I would always love him. He took my love, and all the love of everyone who cared about him, with him. And he also left his love here for us, to surround us and carry us through the darkest times, when his love was the only thing getting us through to the next moment. Love is the only thing that survives death. It's the greatest force in the universe. It's the one thing we can take with us when we leave this world and more importantly, it's an incredibly powerful force we get to leave behind to comfort those who are left to survive in the shadow of our death. All you need is love...

Happy Anniversary My Love

2010-12-31T09:35:00.001-06:00

Good Morning Love,

I've been dreading this day for weeks, for months really. I woke this morning and wished you a happy anniversary, hoping that wherever your spirit is, you heard me. Fifteen years ago tonight, we were married. It was a spur of the moment (planned in three weeks), small candlelit ceremony at my parent's house. We both wore green. We wanted to be unique and match the holiday season. We had been planning a big wedding to take place the next summer, and then while decorating the Christmas tree on December 9, 1995, we decided that we didn't want a big summer wedding. We just wanted to be married, and a candlelit New Year's Eve wedding sounded perfect. So we started phoning our families and friends and put the plan into motion. And we pulled it off. Unfortunately some of our family and friends weren't able to be there due to previous committments but it was a wonderful day and night.

Dancing to our song, Van Morrison's "Have I Told You Lately That I Love You"

Cutting and Eating our Cake

You were so sure that NYE was the perfect night to get married because we'd always have the perfect night to celebrate and we'd never forget our anniversary. Your logic was sound and we enjoyed 13 anniversaries together.

Self portrait on the beach in Cuba on the night of our 10th Anniversary

But one thing your logic didn't take into account was the possibility that we might not die together when we were very old, as we had planned. It was the perfect plan, to die together in bed holding hands when you were 100 and I was 85. We didn't think about the fact that we weren't in control of that reality and you died when I was 42, 43 years too early. So now I'm left to remember the wonderful night I became your wife all by myself. The rest of the world still celebrates and welcomes a new year, while I remember for the both of us and wish with all my might that you were here. I love you and miss you more than words can describe. Happy Anniversary.

Christmas 2010

2010-12-29T12:53:00.000-06:00

Christmas 2010 was our first traditional Christmas since Austin died. We were at my parents, with my sisters, brother in law and three year old niece. My Grandma joined us for Christmas dinner. All the traditions were the same as every other year gone by, except the tree was in another corner of the room, and Austin wasn't there, of course. Last year we were in the fog of denial in beautiful Hawaii. Reality wasn't completely real yet. This year it was real, and reality bites.

But we survived our first traditional Christmas. I had one tough time, on Christmas Eve, when Aidan was feeling tired, cranky and missing his Dad and others didn’t pick up on it and snapped back at him. That sent him into a tailspin but he handled it fairly well and eventually just went to sleep, after some heart to heart discussion. Then, as I set up stockings, which was something Austin and I used to do together, I started getting teary eyed. Eventually I lost it and just sobbed when I went into my parents’ room to get a hidden gift. But I rallied, got the job done, and quickly went to bed, where I sobbed until I naturally stopped, took a deep breath, lit the candle I brought at Boo’s suggestion and watched some old videos of Austin which I put on DVD. Just seeing him and hearing his voice calmed me, which actually surprised me because as I put them into my computer I thought I was sending myself over my cliff of sanity that night. But the DVD’s had the opposite effect. They were a balm on my weary soul and I was able to fall asleep fairly well.

Christmas day was busy and while I thought of him constantly, I was ok. The boys had a good day. They were thoughtful and kind and only once did Aidan get overwhelmed and had to give himself a little break from the chaos. Austin would be so proud to see how they are growing into such wonderful young men. I see him in the boys constantly but two things really stuck out on Christmas day. The first was Dylan sharpening knives for my Mom. Austin loved to sharpen knives; he hated cooking with dull ones so he was always sharpening knives in whatever kitchen he was cooking. My Mom got a new knife sharpener that Dylan quickly volunteered to try out and he sharpened all the knives in my Mom’s knife block. Just like his Dad would have. The second was Aidan spending time with my 91 year old Grandma, who suffers from dementia. Austin was incredibly patient and that was especially evident when he was dealing with small children and the elderly. He would spend a lot of time with my Grandmas and Grandpa and never seemed to get bored or frustrated. Aidan showed those same characteristics on Christmas day and I could see his Dad shining through our sweet boy. Austin lives on in them, and that does bring me some comfort as I see his amazing qualities coming through in our sons.

So we survived. I can even say that we had a nice Christmas day. We enjoyed time with my family. The boys had a great time snowboarding with my sister and I joined them one day on skis. The mountains and snow were beautiful. But we came home yesterday and today we are all enjoying a lazy morning. It is nice to be back home where I'm able to be completely unsociable. I'm just feeling like I want to be alone to miss Austin and frankly to be a little grumpy with myself. Our 15th anniversary would have been on Friday night, December 31st. The sadness that he's not here to celebrate is pulling me under a giant wave of grief. And I just want to go there, by myself, to wrap myself in missing him. Others are having a little trouble understanding that I want to be alone right now, but I do. I'm still being a good and loving Mom, but when the boys are doing things on their own I'm relishing my aloneness (if that's even a word, which I don't think it is). New Year's Eve will be spent with my sons, watching a movie and possibly watching a video of mine and Austin's wedding, if I figure out how to use my new VHS to DVD machine. I'm trying hard to listen to my inner voice these days and my inner voice tells me that I don't want to do anything with anyone but my kids on New Year's Eve. So that's how it will be.

Reading through Christmas cards from friends and family has been interesting this year in how people address us and relate to us, on this second Christmas without Austin. Only a few mention Austin, which we really appreciate. We wish that everyone did but some prefer to wish us "the very best holiday ever" or "the jolliest Christmas yet". Seriously??? Some people need to think about to whom they're wishing what before they pop a card in the mail. I have one friend from overseas to whom I only write at Christmas (I'm a lousy letter writer). Last Christmas I wrote to her about Austin having died 8 months earlier. This year she sent a Christmas card to all four of us. I guess that's how much she pays attention to what I write in my Christmas letter. Aidan did a serious double take when he read that card. And friends of Austin respect and admire my hard work and tenacity in figuring out how to deal with Austin's "being gone". Gone???? He's not out getting milk or away at war. He's DEAD! I hate euphemisms for dead. But only the brave seem to be able to talk about the dead or even mention the word dead. Brave people are becoming my favorite people.

Sorry that I'm sounding so cranky. I hope that 2011 brings a little more peace for all of us. I'm counting on this latest big wave of grief having washed over me by then and be heading back out to sea. I wish for us all happiness in the new year.

(from http://www.whmsoft.net/)

Christmas countdown - year 2

2010-12-20T00:10:00.000-06:00

I'm grumpy, sad, miserable and just wanting to sleep through the holiday and wake up on January 2nd, 2011. Last year the boys and I ran away to Hawaii. It was a good choice and I highly recommend running away every once in a while. This year we are facing the holidays head on with a busy family Christmas, and I'm not looking forward to it at all. I'm actually dreading it. I don't want to be festive and merry and bright. This year doesn't feel any better than last year; in fact it feels worse. I know I'm not alone in these emotions. Apparently year 2 sucks for many widows and widowers. So at least I'm not crazy or alone in my feelings.

I'm good at faking it when the boys are around, though they are noticing my grumpiness and short fuse but I'm trying to be holiday cheery around them. I'm betting that if I asked them, they'd say I'm not a very good faker. Christmas will come and go and then New Year's Eve will hit me like a sledge hammer. Not only does it mark another year without him, but it was our anniversary. This year we would have been married 15 years and we had made plans to travel to Greece to celebrate. Instead I'll probably watch a movie with my kids and then go to bed, to try and sleep through the stroke of midnight when you're supposed to kiss the one you love...

Thanks for letting me vent. Just writing this has allowed tears to flow, which I really needed to release. I know this is so hard for all of us and I appreciate you taking time out of your grief to hear about mine. I will try and touch base over the holidays, to take a break from faking it and have the opportunity to be real for a few minutes. I hope we all find a little peace over the next two weeks so we can start off 2011 feeling ok.

Over the past couple of days, an old Christmas song keeps running through my mind. It came out in 1984, long before I'd ever known the despair of spending the holiday season without the love of my life. Obviously the words mean much more now than they did in 1984 and for some reason I keep hearing it play on the CD in my mind. Below are the lyrics and if you want to hear the hokey Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers version, they are on YouTube. Funny how an old song can come back to mind years later, when it finally is meaningful....

Christmas Without You

Christmas without you
White Christmas and I'm blue
Like fireworks with no fuse
Christmas without you.

The fireplace keeps burning and my thoughts keep turning
The pages of mem'ries of time spent with you
Old Christmas songs we knew and used to make love to
Make it hard to get used to Christmas without you.

Christmas without you, white Christmas and I'm blue
I love you, I miss you, so sad but so true
Christmas without you, like a mystery with no clues
Like fireworks with no fuse, Christmas without you.

The sweetest gift I know would be if the new snow
Could fall on your footsteps on this Christmas Eve
The most joyous Christmas if luck could be with us
Would be if Saint Nicholas brought you home to me.

Christmas without you, white Christmas and I'm blue
I love you, I miss you, I need you, so sad but so true
Christmas without you, like a mystery with no clues
Like fireworks with no fuse Christmas without you.

Christmas without you, I just can't get used to
I just have no use for Christmas without you

You know that I love you, you know that I need you
You know that I want you, I need you, I love you
Honest I do.
You know that I want you, you know that I need you
You know that I need you, you know that I want you
I love you, I want you, I need you, I do...

Two Steps Back

2010-12-14T23:42:00.000-06:00

In six days, it will have been 21 months since my husband died. It boggles my mind that he's been dead that long and in the same thought it feels like forever since I've seen him, touched him, smelled him and talked to him. Like all people who lose someone who is part of the fabric of their life, time becomes very warped. In the same moment it feels like you haven't seen them forever and yet it feels like they were just here and have only gone away for a few days. For a long time after he died, I found myself frequently caught off guard by the fact that he was dead. I'd think of something I needed to tell him, or I'd have a parenting issue that I wanted him to be part of and for a second I'd forget that he was gone. It was like falling off a cliff when a moment later I remembered. And that free fall was so long and difficult to climb out of.

But after the first year, I stopped the millisecond forgetfullness. I didn't have any moments of comfort, thinking "I can't wait to tell Austin that" or "I sure look forward to talking to Austin about_____" . And I didn't have many long free falls. His death was a constant. I woke every morning thinking about the fact that he was dead, I lived every moment of the day with his death on my mind and I went to bed every night missing him being beside me.

I've had months of clarity. No more fogs of grief protect me. Until today. I was driving into the city to pick up my son and I was listening to an old cassette tape of Austin's. It wasn't sad - I was actually singing along. And then for a moment, as I was singing, I got a warm, comforting feeling and I could feel the reality of being beside him and I thought, for a millisecond, how much I was looking forward to getting home to Austin. And then came the fall. It's such a gut wrenching physical experience. I went from singing and smiling to sobbing in a few seconds.

Here we go, two steps back...

Christmas Season Traditions

2010-12-12T09:13:00.003-06:00

I've been debating whether or not I should continue writing my blog. I don't have much new to say. I still miss him with every breath, I still wish that my children didn't have to lose their Dad and I still cry tears every day for my love and my sons. But I would say that we've made progress. And to confirm this, I've gone back and read many old posts. Yes, we're moving forward on this grief journey (two steps forward, one step back...). But what struck me most as I read old posts through my tears is that this blog has become a record of our lives since we lost Austin. I hope that one day it will be something that the boys will find valuable, to be able to see the path that we walked. I know it's already valuable for me. How I wish I could share my hard earned wisdom with my love. When I started writing this blog it was so I could reach out to all of you, and feel a little less alone. This journey that I continue to trudge through every day would be so much harder without all of you. Those connections with you, and the record of my family's survival, is too important to set aside. So for now, even though I don't have as much to say as I used to, I'm going to keep putting myself out there. If you don't hear anything new for a while, just assume I'm doing ok, life is busy with single parenting and working, and we're all still missing him desperately.

The last sentence sums up our life lately. We actually got out some Christmas decorations last weekend and made the house feel slightly festive. We had a moment when we were assembling the tree when Aidan commented that the last time the tree was touched would have been when Austin and the boys put it away after Christmas '08. Aidan innocently took a big sniff of the branch he was "fluffing" and said, "it doesn't even smell like Dad". I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I chose laughter, and assurred him that the plastic tree never smelled like Dad. I did choose to cry an hour later when I opened up the box containing our beautiful stockings, hand made cross stitched works of art created by my Mom. Austin's was on the bottom of the pile and as I picked it up I just sobbed, knowing the last time it was touched was when he was here, probably standing by my side as we packed away another season of Christmas decorations. We got the rest of the decorating done without any more tears. Aidan put the lights on the tree and did a beautiful job completing a task that was traditionally Austin's.

So the house looks more festive than last year, by a long shot. I'm working on Christmas cards, which we always did together. What used to be a fun way to spend an evening, reminiscing about our past year and remembering people who we didn't see on a regular basis but who came to life out of our address book, has turned into a lonely chore. Like many other things in this new life of mine....

Ok, enough of that attitude. Time to go make a Sunday breakfast for my boys, which is a semi-tradition in our house. I try to keep our family traditions going, even when they feel lonely now, without him. So this year we will brave a traditional Christmas. I wasn't brave enough last year to even attempt it, so I must be feeling stronger and I don't even realize it. But if I could afford to run away again, like we did last year, I might have taken the option. Tradition due to no other options. I guess it's still tradition.

Borders and Time, by the Rankin Family

2010-11-20T12:44:00.001-06:00

I heard this old song the other day. It is from a CD that came out in 1993, the year that I met Austin and we became best friends and fell in love. I bought the CD after I met him, and we listened to it constantly. But this song took on a new meaning when I heard it for the first time in years. And now I can't get it out of my head so I thought I'd share it, in case it is meaningful for any of you out there.

Borders and time do indeed keep us apart these days, just not the ones I pictured when I used to listen to this song. Back then the most difficult thing I had ever dealt with was a break up with an old boyfriend. Life sure has a way of changing perspective for some of us....

Rankin Family - Borders And Time

I think of you all the time
I'll pay for my sins
The hearthache begins
I can't free you from my mind
It seems so these days
I've tried every way
You have drifted so far from me
The winds of change
Have swept you away
Night and day

It seems like eternity

Borders and time have kept you from me

Blue are the ocean waters
Along a lover's shoreline
You will not be forgotten
But now that you've gone
The heartache live on

A warm breeze blows over a gentle sea
The summer is near,
the hearache is here
The fiddler plays an old time melody
The tune is the same
Change the faces and names

Blue are the ocean waters
Along a lovers' shoreline
You will not be forgotten
But now that you've gone
The heartache live on

Blue are the ocean waters
Along a lover's shoreline
You will not be forgotten
But now that you've gone
The heartache lives on

Oh borders and time
The heartache is mine

Just Under the Surface Lies Our Grief

2010-11-14T22:05:00.000-06:00

I have been a very absent blogger lately. I just haven't had anything interesting to say. I've enjoyed reading everyone's blogs and commenting when I felt I had something to contribute. But mostly I've been very busy parenting, working, coaching, running children to art lessons and band class and trying to keep our home a fairly clean and organized place where it feels good to spend time. I am feeling fairly content with how we are doing. Grief hasn't left (of course we know it never will) and I still miss Austin every moment, but we're coping.

Or at least I thought we were. But tonight our youngest son said something that reminded me how close to the surface our loss of Austin really is. We are all just getting really good at coping in spite of it and stuffing it away.

This afternoon, the boys had been crabbing at each other incessantly. I gave them time to work it out on their own but after a while I couldn't stand it any longer and I sent them both to their rooms. When I went to speak with our youngest, we talked about what was going on and I said that after both boys had cooled off we would sit together as a family to figure out what was going on and how they could solve their problem. Very softly he said, "We aren't a family anymore Mom. You are still my family but the three of us aren't a real family without Dad.".

I couldn't speak. I just wanted to sob, the loud and ugly sob that I knew would scare my son. So I took a deep breath and talked about all the different forms that families can take. And I reassured him that indeed we were still a family even though we had gotten smaller. He didn't agree or disagree with me and I needed to take a breather before I lost my composure in front of him so I told him we'd talk more about it later and I reminded him that I loved him. Then I went to my room to catch my breath.

So we're coping, but obviously we still have big grief issues to deal with. Damn. Our coping has just put a cover on the issues so we can more easily ignore the painful and sad things that lie beneath the surface. We talk about Austin all the time but I think it's time to get back to the deeper discussions about how the boys are doing. Just because all appears to be ok, doesn't mean it is. Leave it to my wise children to remind me of that fact.

I sure wish we lived closer to a grief centre for children. But I'm trying to get the boys into a Camp Erin when they resume in the spring. Hopefully we'll keep finding our way until then.

A Question for God

2010-10-12T23:09:00.000-06:00

Dear God,

It's me. I know you know that I've had days, weeks and months really, where I've been really angry with you. But you took it well and loved me anyway. Thanks for that. I know you've been with the boys and I as we're learning how to survive without Austin and some days I feel like we will actually make it to a future that isn't shrouded in sadness. Tonight I'm caught between being extremely thankful for your blessings, confused as to how it gets decided who gets miracles and angry, jealous and bitter that it wasn't my family on the receiving end of a miracle that would have saved Austin. I know, I'm selfish. Please forgive me. When my kids are hurt, my mother bear instincts kick in, and sometimes that means I can be a little self centered and selfish, on behalf of my family. I'm only human after all.

Since August, I've been following the drama involving the miners trapped 700 metres below the surface in a Chilean mine. We've talked about it at home, I've talked about it with my students at school and I've even sent you a few prayers that the men make it home safely to their families. Tonight, you started answering my prayers and the prayers of thousands of other people. The boys and I watched as the first two miners emerged from their underground hell to the arms of their families, rescuers and even the president of Chile. Your blessings were abundantly clear. And as I watched the joyful scene with tears in my eyes, I started wondering some uncomfortable things.

Who decides who gets the miracles? Why did these miners get miracles while others have died a horrific death underground? Why do some people on airplanes make it to their destination while others die in tragic crashes? Why do some people walk away from car accidents while others perish at the scene? Why do some people survive cancer while others battle with every ounce of their life force and yet they still don't survive? Why do some people have heart attacks and survive while others, who seemingly do all the right things to live, collapse and die without time to say goodbye to their family? Who decides which families get the miracles?

I observed my sons watching those dads emerge from the mine tonight and hug their wives and children. And though my boys never said a word I could read their thoughts written all over their faces. I know they were asking themselves, and probably you, God, "why do those kids get to hug their dads who've survived an incredibly difficult ordeal but my Dad didn't survive for me to hug and appreciate the miracle of more time with him?" As I read that painful question on my boys' faces, the ugly emotions of anger and jelousy arose in my gut.

I know the ugly emotions are wrong, but they are real. I am truly happy for those families in Chile and my soul is lighter knowing a great miracle happened on our planet. There is too much sadness and violence in the world today and I will sleep better knowing that those men are on their way to safety. But I really would like to know how it gets decided who gets the miracle and who doesn't. And for those of us who don't get the miracle, why?????

Thanks for listening, God. And please tell Austin we love him to infinity and beyond.....

Grief in the Garage

2010-10-03T22:50:00.000-06:00

Today I've been thinking about what triggers grief, the overwhelming, can't catch my breath, tears running down my cheeks type of grief. I miss Austin every moment I'm awake, and often even when I'm dreaming. He is my first thought every morning when I wake up, my last thought as I fall asleep at night and is on my mind every moment during the day and evening. But these days, over 18 months after he died, I'm able to cope with his absence much of the time while missing him at the same time. I parent, I work, I follow through on community responsibilities, I look after our house, and make small plans for the future (following the same dreams that Austin and I made together, with obvious changes since he's not here). I don't cry in public any more (most of the time). I've put away Austin's clothes (in storage - the boys and I didn't want to get rid of anything, but they are out of my closet). I've done a lot of cleaning and purging of stuff that just needed to be chucked, and should have been chucked years ago by both of us. I've cleaned the garage, reorganizing things a little so they work for the boys and I. We've reorganized the basement, I've gone through Austin's treasures that he had in storage and I think I've touched everything that Austin touched. There aren't any real surprises any more, no long lost treasures that make me catch my breath. Except for today...

I have to interject here to let you know that a few weeks before Austin died suddenly, we were contemplating changing out the handles on our kitchen cabinets. The old handles are dated and we though it would be a fairly easy and not overly expensive way to freshen up our kitchen. We bought a couple of handles that we liked and Austin put them on two upper cupboards so we could think about which ones we liked better. I didn't ask where he put the old handles - it didn't even cross my mind. Then he died, and our house was full of people. In my fog, staring at the ceiling, I saw the two mismatched handles. They brought a smile to my face but I thought that we should put the old ones back on before the funeral and Austin's family and friends from far away arrived. It would look better, I thought. I was crazy with grief and I can't believe I wasted energy on the stupid handles. Looking back, I think it was a distraction and a way of involving Austin in the present so I clung to the idea of finding the old handles. I searched as much as my limited attention span would allow but I couldn't find them. I wondered for months what he'd done with the old handles. My love didn't throw away much, and I knew they must be around somewhere. But of course they held little importance as I struggled to find my way in my new reality. I ended up buying new "old" handles, knowing Austin would roll his eyes and grin at the thought I was paying good money for ugly handles. But the mismatched pair bugged me and I wanted them off my mind. The boys and I replaced the handles and I totally forgot about them. Until today.

I was tidying the garage, again. It seems that it gets disorganized easily when no one puts stuff away after using it! I needed to find a place to put work gloves that were laying all over the garage and I realized that there was a lot of junk in some little drawers that I hadn't cleaned out since Austin died. So I started chucking. And at the bottom of one of the drawers were the two old handles. Austin must have tossed them in the drawer after taking them off. I picked them up, knowing that no one had touched them since he had, almost two years ago. I just starting sobbing in the garage and held on to the handles tightly as I crumpled to the floor. The old handles almost burned in my dusty hand, like the heat from his touch had been waiting all this time and finally was able to pass into my hand, giving me one last surge of his energy. I spent a few minutes on the floor of the garage, sobbing, before I picked myself up and could take deep breaths again.

So why was it that I could throw out a pile of old sandpaper, which he had been he last one to touch, without more than a quick glance and smile as I thought about him sanding one of his many woodworking projects?Why could I sort out his many tools, which would have been used by him many times and would have been full of his energy and passion, with only a heavy sigh and a glimpse of his image from my memory as he built or fixed something? Why did those ugly old handles send me back to my knees, overcome with grief?

The unpredictability of deep grief is what I find the hardest to deal with now. I've learned to cope with Austin's loss most of the time, at least in public. Grief is my now constant companion. I've gotten used to it and I can function most of the time with grief by my side. If only I could figure out how to get it to stop blind-siding me.

18 Months and Mr. Magorium

2010-09-20T21:48:00.001-06:00

I confess, I still count the months. I've been known to calculate the days and weeks, but not as often as I used to. But I can't seem to get past noticing Fridays and the 20th of each month. 18 months. It seems like an eternity since I've seen him, and yet it in some ways it seems like it's only been a few weeks. Grief and memories have a strange way of playing tricks with my mind. But while I force myself to take deep breaths as I remember what life was like 18 months ago, I had a sweet reminder about honouring those we love who have died while we continue to live.

Last night, Aidan was watching Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium while I was doing some school work beside him on the couch. We'd seen it years ago and I'd forgotten much of it. The scene before Mr. Magorium dies had my eyes glued to the screen, with tears running down my cheek. Aidan kept looking at me until I assured him I was ok. The message was sweet, and I wanted to share the scene with you, in case you haven't seen the movie.

Mr. Magorium: [to Molly, about dying] When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He's written "He dies." That's all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is "He dies." It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with "He dies." And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words "He dies." but because of the life we saw prior to the words.

[pause, walks over to Molly]

Mr. Magorium: I've lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest "He died."

Molly Mahoney: [starting to sob] I love you.

Mr. Magorium: I love you, too.

[picks Molly up, sighs heavily]

Mr. Magorium: Your life is an occasion. Rise to it

All stories, even the ones we love, must eventually come to an end and when they do, it's only an opportunity for another story to begin.

So I'm going to do my best to relate Austin's life in all its wonder to our children, our family, friends and basically anyone who is interested. And at the same time, I'm going to turn the page, continue reading and let the next story begin, while always honouring and loving the chapters that came before.

Tears in Walmart

2010-09-19T11:34:00.007-06:00

My eldest son turns 14 on Thursday. As most people say, time goes by so quickly. I remember 14 years ago like they were only a few weeks ago. We found out that we would have to have a c-section because our baby was a double footling breach and he was big (turned out he was 9 pounds, 14 ounces). They wouldn’t even let me try going into labour. So Austin and I had 4 days notice that we would become first time parents on September 23^rd, 1996. We spent the days making sure we were ready, eagerly anticipating meeting our baby and trying to relish our last days as a couple, before we became three. On September 23 at 2:04pm, Dylan was born, as were Austin and I as his parents. Our lives forever changed, and we were thrilled (and soon we were sleep deprived and all the other realities that come when a baby moves into a home!).

Austin and newborn Dylan

Dylan's first bath at home

The new family of three (tired but happy)

A few days ago I was in Walmart choosing a birthday card for my soon-to-be 14 year old. I usually read through a lot of cards before I find the one that says exactly what I want to say. Every card I read said how much “we” love you, how proud “we” are of you and talked about “our” memories. Last year I bought both of my boys a card like that for their first birthdays after Austin died. I signed them from Austin and I, and talked about how proud Austin would be of them. Last year, 3 & 7 months after Austin died, it seem natural to include him in the cards.

Austin is a part of our day to day life, even now, 18 months after his death. All three of us talk about him naturally. We never force his name to come up, it just does. And it never makes us feel awkward, but sometimes sad and wishing he was part of whatever we’re discussing. Even when I’m having single parenting issues I will sometimes ask, “what would your Dad say?”. And the boys always know. Others outside of our inner circle of family and friends may be uncomfortable when we mention Austin but we never are.

So I was totally caught off guard when choosing a birthday card for Dylan. It felt wrong choosing a card from “us”. I had a visceral gut reaction that I couldn’t buy that type of card this year. And that just made me overwhelmingly sad, like Austin was continuing to move farther away from us. Tears started flowing in Walmart. My youngest son, Aidan, happened to come around the corner, saw the tears and asked “is it because we’re growing up?”. I smiled, wiped my tears and responded that I’m happy they’re growing into the great young men that are, but something in the card made me think of Dad. He just gave me his sweet grin that says, “Oh, that again. I get it. You’ll be ok. I’ll just give you the time you need for a couple of minutes.” And he proceeded to choose a birthday card for his brother. He picked a musical High School Musical card that plays some annoying tune when you open it. He had a mischievous look on his face when he said “perfect!”. And boom, we were back to reality.

The reality is that Austin will always be the boys’ Dad, he will always be the love of my life, and we will always continue to talk about him so he continues to influence his sons as they move through their teenage years . But somehow Austin is moving into the shadows of our lives. We are learning to function without him. Some may say we are even thriving (but they aren’t in bed with me every night as I often still cry when the boys are sleeping and I have that quiet reflection time in the still, dark house or when I cry in the van as I’m driving and I hear a song that surrounds me in memories or any other of the many times I cry every week, sometimes every day).

We will always miss him and wish he was with us. But we are choosing to live and move forward, exactly how he would want us to. These growing pains are so difficult, living in the present and moving into the future without him. I often feel that it would be easier to stay curled up in bed, cradled in my grief. But just when I think that’s an option, I hear a voice inside me remind me that I’m responsible for showing my sons how to survive tragedy and terrible grief. These may well be the most valuable lessons I will ever teach them. And when I took on the responsibility of becoming a parent 14 years ago it meant that for better or worse I would never give up and curl into a ball, at least not for long.

Back to Work

2010-08-29T21:47:00.002-06:00

I went back to work on Wednesday. It's the second time I've gone back to work without Austin (We used to work, live and love together, for those of you who may be new to my blog. We were together 24-7.) But I'm realizing that last year I was still protected by a veil of shock and numbness. That veil has lifted and I am no longer protected by the thin gauze that numbed my brain. His absence just leaves big gaping black holes everywhere I go. Going back to work without him this week has been sorrow-filled and grief has been washing over me in large, powerful waves. For the most part it has been expressed privately, but I've been a little grumpy with my kids. I had a talk with them to let them know what's going on and to let them know that I'm going to try harder to not be grumpy! But the tears I've been shedding in my pillow are still at the surface, ready to stream out as soon as the boys have gone to bed. They start school tomorrow and I don't want to worry them tonight. They're choosing outfits and making sure their school supplies are ready to go. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was setting it all out for them. Time sure flies, like it or not. And tonight I'm not liking it at all....

While I was doing work on my computer tonight, I was watching the Emmy Awards. The T.V. was just playing in the background while I concentrated on creating course outlines but I stopped working to pay attention when Jewel sang a beautiful song to accompany photographs of those who died this past year in the T.V. business. The song is called "The Shape of You and Jewel wrote it after a friend of hers died of cancer. It's beautiful and poignant, and made me cry (which is easy to do these days!). I was able to find it on You Tube so I thought I'd share it with you. There are no copies of lyrics that I can find but it is available on iTunes. As the song goes, there is a hole in my heart in the shape of Austin. Somedays I feel that it is starting to scar over and mend together, but over the past few days the hole has been clearly defined and very hollow. It aches. I miss him more than words can say. But all of you who've lost your love know exactly how it feels. Words aren't necessary...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KezgLBLWtus

Whistling

2010-08-17T13:26:00.002-06:00

My youngest son and I were cleaning the kitchen last night. As we were working away together, he started whistling. It was just a random tune, nothing memorable or even recognizable. But it brought tears to my eyes and made it hard to catch my breath for a moment.

I'd forgotten how Austin used to whistle when he was puttering around the house or the garage, doing some odd job. It used to make me smile and sometimes drove me crazy when it went on too long or when I was a little harried or crabby, as I tend to get when I've been house cleaning for too long. He'd whistle when he was close by, giving me a wink and a smile as he went about his business. Sometimes I'd hear him whistling in the distance, a comforting reassurance that he was close by and happily doing whatever was on his agenda for that moment. But somehow I forgot about this detail, this seemingly random piece of trivia which was just one of the hundreds of details that together made up who he was. After I recovered from reeling over a memory that had previously been lost to me, I realized it's been 17 months (on Friday) since I've heard him whistle. Which led to stronger waves of sadness and anxiety wash over me as I wondered what else I've already forgotten about him.

The question I'm pondering today is: How is it possible to retain my memories of the significant and the more subtle qualities and details that made up the man I love? I don't want to forget anything, yet it seems I already have.

Widowhood is like High School

2010-08-17T09:25:00.001-06:00

When I started high school, I was very nervous. I was a good student, smart, but not the most popular student in my class. Going to a new place where there were hundreds of people who had more experience than me was intimidating. I didn't want to look silly. I just wanted to fit in and fly under everyone's radar. Lord knows why I wore the thick rimmed brown glasses, if I really wanted to go unnoticed! But they were fashionable at the time and more than anything I wanted to fit in. I wasn't interested in surrendering my morals or values, but I was willing to stretch who I was as a human being, to grow in a positive way.

And after a while, I found my place in high school. I was never part of the popular group, but I did hang out with a wonderful group of people. In high school, I stretched as a human being and learned how to co-exist and get along with many types of people. They weren't all my friends - some were aquaintences. But in the end, we were all there for each other and felt a commraderie that bound us together. Time (cough, 25 years) has probably made my memories a little more rosy but when I looked at old yearbooks last night, I was taken right back to the 80's and all of the emotions that go along with the teenage years. Sure, I could dredge up some memories of when I felt completely left out, or when a good friend really hurt my feelings. But I choose to look at the experience as a whole. And when I stand back and take the whole view in, I wouldn't change a thing. Even the "negative" things from high school helped form who I am as a person. They showed me what I was willing to accept, and what I wouldn't stand for. They showed me what in life was worth compromising, and what was unnegotiable. They showed me what I was made of. I took all these lessons with me as I moved away from home, went to university and then began "real life". I continued to build on all I learned in high school, but it absolutely helped me build a solid foundation for my life.

The 17 months I've been a widow are starting to remind me of high school. At first, when I wasn't overwhelmingly sad and mourning deeply, I was nervous. How was I going to raise my children on my own? How was I going to survive without my very best friend and my biggest supporter? The tasks ahead of me seemed impossible. But just as I kept showing up for high school, despite my nerves and uncertainty, I just kept moving forward a day at a time. I didn't have any friends at first, and young (ish!) widowhood was very lonely. So I stepped out of my comfort zone, stretched as a human being, and started writing my blog as a way to reach out to others who were on a path similar to mine. And I made friends who helped me feel supported and less alone. Jackie was the very first friend I met in person, and from those few hours that we spent together last summer, I knew that I needed to continue to reach out.

Coming Home

2010-08-11T19:58:00.002-06:00

Last year at this time, I posted about how hard it was to come home from summer vacation without Austin. I thought this year would be different. We had a successful and peaceful time at the ocean, I enjoyed my time at Camp Widow and we had great visits with family. The boys were very ready to come home and though I knew I wasn't excited about it, I was ok with coming home. We arrived this afternoon. And it's the same as last year. Damn.

I left San Diego having seen glimpses of the woman Austin fell in love with and realizing that I need to make myself a priority for the first time in a long time. I was feeling empowered and hopeful. And then we arrived home. And the grief is washing over me....

I miss him so much and life without him is overwhelming. Widows Rock, but reality bites. I'm giving myself this night to do nothing, to feel his absence and to hopefully feel his love in a tangible way. I could use a good dream in which he comes to visit. If wishing made it so, he would be in my dreams every night.

I sure wish I lived closer to my widow friends. I'm missing all of you and wishing we could be sitting out on my deck sharing some beverages and understanding. Too bad we couldn't "beam" back on forth, like on Star Trek. Ok, now I'm just getting strange...

Austin would give me the "one eye brow raised" look and flash me a smile that said, "I love you, even though you're a little goofy." It's those little things that I really miss being at home without him.

Camp Widow

2010-08-10T11:29:00.001-06:00

Camp Widow was a positive experience for me. Really, I had a great time attending a conference called Camp Widow. There were 200 women and 10 men in attendance. I spent the weekend surrounded by people who understood what it was like to lose their loves. We were all in differenct places on our grief journey. Michele Neff Hernandez, the founder of Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation and the person responsible for this conference, started the weekend off with an inspiring speech comparing the grief journey to climbing a sheer cliff out of the canyon into which we fell when our spouses died. The idea is that we start climbing out of the canyon when we are ready and we get helped along on our journey from those who are ahead of us on the climb. Just knowing they made it a little further than us gives us inspiration to keep going. You can read her much more eloquent version here.

I met people who are still on the floor of the canyon, some who have made it to the top and most who were somewhere still on the climb up. It was great to meet and spend time with my blogger and Facebook friends who have been helping me climb my own personal wall since I met them on line. Spending time with them was truly a blessing. It was also great to meet some new friends who really brightened my weekend. And it was great to meet some of the people who have inspired me from afar with their books or blogs. They are wonderful people who were receptive to complete strangers coming up and introducing themselves and soon became new friends.

I was energized by the weekend. I laughed more in the 44 hours I was in San Diego that I have since Austin died almost 17 months ago. I also cried in each of the four sessions I attended. The tears were for my sons, for me, for friends, for people I didn't know who were sharing some of their grief journey. I came home exhausted and quiet, giving myself time to reflect on what the weekend meant in my life. And I've come to the conclusion that all the laughter, tears and friendship were very cleansing for my soul. They reintroduced me to myself, the Debbie I was before Austin died. She's been gone for almost 17 months. But I saw and heard glimpses of her this weekend. And that has reminded me that I'm still here somewhere. I'm forever changed by Austin's death and the person he loved so well has found it hard to exist without him. But this weekend made me realizetwo things. First, the best way I can honour Austin and our love is to allow myself to really live again, in whatever way I can figure out how to do that. And second, I need to take better care of myself and put myself first. Because if I'm not taking care of me, I won't be able to do a good job of taking care of our sons. I know Austin would absolutely want that for me, for us. And so I'm starting today to put myself at the top of list.

Thank you to every person at Camp Widow. Your friendships and even the energy of all the people I didn't meet, have helped move me one more step up the canyon wall of grief. I look forward to connecting with so many of you online over the next 12 months and in person next year.

Now it's time to get back to "regular" life. We accomplished our sailing goal, I made it to Camp Widow, the boys had a great weekend with grandparents and aunties and uncle and cousin, school clothes shopping has been done and tomorrow we head home to paint boys' bedrooms and get ready to go back to school. I'm tired and energized all at the same time. Wow, what a summer. I'll post some picts in the next few days.

One More Step Into the Future Without Him

2010-08-04T10:19:00.003-06:00

We were at the coast for almost a month. The time flew by, despite the fact that some nights were long. We would not have a sailboat at the ocean without Austin's passion for sailing (let alone two sailboats now). He was the sailor in our family, our captain, and we were his crew. But the boys and I have made a step into the future without him. We have started sailing on our own. Despite the fact that I was worried about bringing the boat in and out of the marina with me at the tiller, we have done it successfully many times this summer. Every time I brought us in and out of our slip, I could feel Austin cheering me on. The boys took lessons this summer and have become good sailors. They raise and lower sails, know what to do with all the lines and have even participated in some sailing races, in which they did very well. They are pumped and excited for the future.

Yet we had many moments of grief over the course of the month, when the three of us (usually at different times) missed Austin immensely. If wishing he was there with all our heart and soul meant he would reappear, he would have shown up every day over the past month (and when I think about it, every day since he died, so I guess it isn't that amazing). Together we dealt with overwhelming sadness, anger that he wasn't there with us, guilt that we were moving forward without him and pride that we were succeeding. There were quite a confusing array of emotions flowing through our little family.

One example of that shone through when it came to sailboat racing. Austin loved racing, though he didn't do it often. He said that every time we were out on the water we were racing someone, though the other boats never knew we were racing them. So when my kids fell in love with racing this summer my fractured heart cracked open where some healing had started to take place. He should have been there with us, sharing the boys' excitement. He would have been so proud. And yet the irony is that if Austin hadn't died, the boys wouldn't have experienced lessons and racing with their peers because we would have been out sailing as a family. These ironic situations that happen more often than I want to admit sure do a number on me. I would give anything for him to be alive, yet if he were here our life would be a little different than it is now. As we move further into the future, those differences will grow bigger. We are definitely on "The Road Less Travelled", and every day it moves us further away from the road Austin and I had planned to travel together.

So we move one step further into the future without him. I hate that. But I am looking forward to the big step I'm going to take this weekend when I travel to Camp Widow. Many other bloggers have mentioned it so I won't repeat the details. But I am very much looking forward to meeting so many people I've "met" online, plus so many others. I must confess I am also looking forward to staying in a beautiful hotel without my kids, where I can just be me (not Mom 24/7) and enjoy the experience of being surrounded by amazing people who all understand what it's like to lose the love of their lives. And yet I find myself still shaking my head in disbelief that I'm going to a conference for widows, because I am one. Wow, I wonder when that will become part of my fabric? Maybe when the joy starts to find its way back into my heart.

When Does the Joy Return?

2010-07-10T21:16:00.001-06:00

We made it to the ocean with our little sailboat. After a few days of lots of hard work, the boat made it into the water and over to our marina (about a 3 hour trip). The boys and I have motored in and out of our marina slip and done a little sailing on our own, for the first time ever. I am feeling very grateful to all of our family and friends who have helped us get this far and I'm proud of the boys and I for taking this big task on with success. Our family dreams continue. And yet I am so empty. I'm enjoying our time on the water yet nothing feels good without Austin. It's such a strange feeling and it leaves me wondering how on earth I am going to live the rest of my life when the real joy is gone. Yes, we're functioning. Yes, we're suceeding at moving forward without him and doing things we love. But as I sit here on this boat, in the beautiful sunshine with the salt air breeze on my face, all I can really think about is how much I miss him and ache for him. I so wish he was here with us and I'm so sad he isn't. It's going to be a very long life when the things that used to bring me joy feel rather empty without him. Will the joy in life ever return?

Sailing

2010-07-03T08:12:00.037-06:00

I have been a very quiet blogger lately. Life has been extremely busy as school came to an end for another year. There was a lot of studying, and marking, going on between the boys and I. Not to mention the many other jobs that need doing at the end of the school year. We also have rennovations going on at our house, which always means extra work (even though I have a contractor). And I've been getting our 24 foot sailboat ready to move to the ocean.

Last summer, after Austin's ashes were spread and all of our family and friends had gone home, the boys and I stayed on our 37 foot sailboat, which is at the ocean. We sanded, painted, scrubbed and grieved. We missed Austin immensely, but we also realized that we still loved being at the ocean. We had a family meeting where we concluded that we didn't want to stop sailing, just because Austin had died. But that was a problem, because he was our captain. He was the expert sailor in the family and the only reason the boys and I ever sailed in the first place. We don't have the knowledge or the confidence that Austin had, and just getting our boat in and out of the marina without him is unimaginable. But last summer my sister-in-law, Austin's sister, gave me a priceless gift. She said: "He wasn't born knowing how to sail. He had to learn. You and the boys are smart and you can figure it out too." Added to that gift was my brother-in-law's comment (after sailing with us and our boat partners over tp the island where Austin's ashes were spread): "You know more than you think you know." I'd been sailing with Austin since 1994. I'd picked up some knowledge along the way. And after the supportive comments from Austin's siblings I realized that maybe the boys and I could in fact learn to sail on our own. But not on the 37 foot boat. I needed another option. And then I thought about our 24 foot sailboat which was sitting in a farm yard far from the ocean. Austin had been trying to sell the boat (no one needs or can resonably afford two sailboats!) but if we could get it to the ocean, the boys and I could build our confidence sailing her and hopefully one day move up to the 37 foot boat. What began as a dream and a plan a year ago is close to becoming reality.

But it has been more mental and physical work than I realized it would be. There are so many things to do, and plan for, and it has been very time consuming. It has also been very grief inducing, as I often find myself overwhelmed that I'm doing this without Austin. But he taught me well by his example (we moved boats before, but he was always the master planner) and I have some people helping me, who have made this boat project possible. My parents, Austin's brother and an old dear friend of Austin's are coming with the boys and I on this big journey and will be there to support us as we gain our confidence to sail without Austin.

I'm going to be offline for a while, while this big project hopefully comes to fruition. I'm not sure if I'm crazy, or if this will work out well for our family. But I do know that in life I have only regretted the things I wanted to attempt but didn't. If this doesn't work out, I'll just sell the boat. But if it does work out, I will have shown the boys that dreams don't need to stop just because their Dad died. We can move forward with our plans and dreams, even if they aren't exactly the same as they were before March 20th, 2009. But they can still be positive and meaningful as they take us into the future, doing things that have been a part of our past. We've got a new version of the same dream. And we know Austin is somewhere out there, cheering us on.

I will post again as soon as possible. I hope you have some peaceful, relaxing days this summer season. And I look forward to meeting many of you in San Diego in August!!

Our baby is 12

2010-06-23T11:44:00.001-06:00

Twelve years ago tonight, our youngest son was born. I was in labour for two days and had an emergency c-section in the end but all that mattered was that our baby was born healthy, all 10 lbs 2 oz. of him!!

Austin was the first person to hold him, to bathe him, to talk to him and welcome him to the world. He is so much like his Dad in so many ways. He is artistic, funny, dramatic, thoughtful and loving. And did I mention that in the mere blink of an eye, he's turned 12 ?

Birthdays at our house always begin with morning snuggles in bed. I don't remember last year when he turned 11. I think I was still in a state of shock, though I was functioning. I just don't remember much of the first three months after Austin died. But this year I'm not in shock. The reality is very real and overwhelming. And when my little man and I were snuggling this morning, and talking about the day he was born, Austin's absence was keenly felt. I couldn't contain the tears. But we had a lot of great memories to talk about, which are real blessings in themselves. So we're holding on to those memories and moving forward, 'cause he's racing towards the teenage years at full speed and there's no holding him back!

Happy Birthday my sweet boy. You are loved to infinity and beyond!

Turning 10, his last birthday with his Dad.

Father's Day

2010-06-20T10:23:00.002-06:00

I used to love Father's Day. I have a great Dad, and Father's Day was always a day to take time and remind him how much I love him and how important he is in my life. Then Austin and I had our first child in 1996 and Austin became a father at the age of 44.

He'd wanted to have a child for a long time and he soaked up every moment. He was the one who bathed our babies, until they were old enough to do it themselves. He changed as many diapers as I did, he fed the boys pumped breast milk, he read and played and wrestled, when they were old enough. He was a completely hands on, wonderful Dad.

Father's Day became even more special for me, because it was a day to honour Austin and thank him for all that he did for the boys and I. We spoiled him a little on Father's Day (as they spoiled me on Mother's Day). The boys loved making breakfast to take Austin in bed and giving him all the homemade treasures they were so proud of. It was sweet.

Now I dread Father's Day. I still like the opportunity to remind my own Dad how important he is to me. But by celebrating my own Dad, I feel guilty because my own children do not have their Dad to celebrate.

There is a giant void in their life where their loving Dad used to be. I can do as much as possible, but I'll never be their Dad. No one else can be. It makes me so sad to think about all they're missing because Austin died. When we're sitting together watching a T.V show, I see the sadness in their eyes when a commercial for Father's Day comes on the screen. It's the same sadness I see in their eyes when a commercial for something to do with heart attacks or dying comes on the little screen. I now hold the channel changer in my hand and quickly mute or change the channel when one of those dreaded commercials appears.

Daily life is hard without Austin. Holidays are tough. And the one holiday that is meant to celebrate the one who's no longer here, is hell.

The Heart and Stroke Big Bike

2010-05-30T12:26:00.003-06:00

Austin died of a sudden heart attack. In Canada, The Heart and Stroke Foundation is the major charity that raises money for research. Obviously I don't want anyone to have to die from sudden heart attack, especially my sons when they're older, so I participate in anything I can do to contribute to this worthwhile charity. A couple of months ago, a staff member at our school asked how I would feel if we participated in the Heart and Stroke's Big Bike ride to raise money for the foundation in Austin's memory. I thought it was a great idea and so she began gathering riders, who began gathering donations.

In case you haven't heard of the Big Bike, it literally is a giant bike, that holds 29 riders who all have to raise a minimum of $50 to participate. All donations go to the Heart and Stroke Foundation. All riders have to pedal, and it really is bit of a work out as you cruise around town. Our school set a goal of $2500 and I set a personal goal of $300. I sent out emails to friends and family and was overwhelmed when I raised a total of $1476. I told the boys that I didn't raise that much money, their Dad did. And our school raised $4840!!!! Austin would have been overwhelmed, humbled and impressed. And the sailor in him would have been impressed that we rode covered in water. It was pouring rain, and had been pouring for weeks, so even our butts were wet as the seats were soaked down to their core. But it was fun to do something slightly crazy for a good cause in Austin's memory.

I thought I'd cry at some point, but I didn't. It was just a feel-good afternoon. Doing something selfless that will hopefully make a difference really empowered me that afternoon. It wasn't about our grief and the past but honouring Austin's memory and the future. I've heard it said that when we're feeling bad we should do something for someone else. By doing for others, we are forced to take our mind off ourselves for a moment, which helps to make us feel better, if only just for a short time. And in my experience, it works.

My grief is still deep and I still fall into it very often. Sometimes it is very hard to climb out of. It may take hours, or days, to wallow in it and miss him, before I'm able to pull myself up to the surface to breathe. Sometimes I find I need to take a quick dip into grief. I'm able to allow myself to feel it, wrap myself in his loss, how I wish he was here, etc. etc. etc. etc., cry, feel bad for myself and my sons, take a deep breath and then go back to one of the many things that I need to get accomplished. 14 months and 10 days after losing the love of my life, I still think of him every moment. But not every moment is full of anguish. Some moments are full of smiles and wonderful memories of the fantastic love and life we shared. Some moments are full of satisfaction, knowing how proud he'd be at how the boys and I are doing. Some moments are full of regret that we won't grow old together and fulfill our dreams. Some moments are full of anguish that my sons are having to grow up without their Dad. Those moments are the hardest, when it's painful to see what Austin and the boys are missing. But many moments are just full of life, the busy, crazy life that my sons and I are living. And it's during those moments that I try to take a little bit of time to do for others. That selfless time makes me feel better. They're moments of selflessness and selfishness, so I can go on living, for me and my sons.

This picture is of Austin's memorial bench with the Big Bike behind it. I don't want to post any picts of the actual ride because I don't have the permission of all the staff and students involved, but imagine a group of people with big smiles on their wet faces.

Getting Back to Music

2010-05-23T09:07:00.002-06:00

After Austin died, I couldn't listen to music at all. We are a musical family and every piece of music was somehow linked to him and made the grief even more painful. Even if the lyrics had nothing to do with death, or relationships, a connection to his death emerged from every song. So I stopped listening to music. I put my iPod away, I only listened to news radio and I avoided other sources of music at all costs.

But gradually, music has come back into our lives. I'm not sure when or how, but over the months I began listening to music again. I took baby steps, and still do to some extent. Sometimes I immerse myself in sad songs that remind me how much the boys and I have lost. I'll plug in my iPod late at night when the boys are asleep and I'm snuggled under my covers, hugging Austin's pillows like they are him, and I'll let my tears flow. Sometimes other music brings me energy and a little bit of joy, like the song "Defying Gravity" from the Broadway musical "Wicked". I feel like I'm defying gravity these days and that song just lifts my spirits while bringing a few tears to my eyes. (For the record, I don't agree with the line about love in this song. I believe that our amazing love story was worth every moment of grief I feel now and I wouldn't change a thing about our life together, knowing how it was going to end.) Sometimes I just let the music play quietly in the background of our lives and other times the music is cranked loud in the van (when I'm on my own) and I sing along at full volume.

It seems that songs that I am able to connect with these days are primarily ones I discovered after Austin died. Most of the old ones are still too painful to listen to, unless I want to go headfirst into the grief. Another of my favorite songs these days is also from "Wicked", which I only discovered after he died. It is called "For Good" and it really sums up my thoughts these days. And yes, I know "Glee" has featured "Defying Gravity" but I love Idina Menzel's version. Here's a link and the lyrics to both songs. I hope they bring a little positive vibe into your day today.

For Good
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good

And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for

But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share
And none of it seems to matter anymore

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood
Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better

And because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good...

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I am defying gravity
And you won't bring me down!

I'm through accepting limits
'cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well, if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I'm defying gravity

I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you wont bring me down!

I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I'm defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you won't bring me down!

A Rock Concert and the Crazy Circle of Grief

2010-05-21T00:21:00.002-06:00

The boys and I got away last weekend to the big city for a weekend of escape and music. After their weekly mountain biking adventure on Saturday morning we headed a few hours away to the capital city of our province. We stayed in a hotel with a waterslide, did a little shopping, went out for a nice dinner and, the highlight of the weekend, attended the boys' first rock concert. They have never been to a concert and a couple of months ago, when I first heard about the concert, I decided it would be something fun to look forward to and would be a fun way to spend a day in the big city. And it was.

I wish I had videoed their reactions when the first band came out on stage. It was magical. They are both very musical, like Austin, and, to some extent, me. They both play in the school band, they both play the piano and they both want to learn to play the guitar like their Dad. My youngest loves to sing like his Dad, and my eldest has a nice voice but he's just a little shy. Ok, a lot shy when it comes to singing out loud. Taking them to a concert was so fun and they loved it. We had a great weekend, in between their crabbing at each other and typical sibling rivalry crap.

But having fun is such a double-edged sword because it makes us miss Austin more, if that's even possible.
Fun times continue to be tinged with the sadness that Austin isn't here to share it with us. I'm wondering if we'll always have moments in the middle of fun where one of us says, "Dad would love this." or "Dad would say ________" or "Your Dad would ________". Part of me never wants this sadness to end, because it keeps Austin woven into who the boys are and are becoming. I want his influence to continue and I want him to remain part of this family. I feel that I owe it to him and to us. We miss him desperately and by talking about him, sometimes listening to his favorite music and doing things he would like, I keep his influence alive for the boys. But part of me gets tired of being sad and having his absence overshadow everything we do. I want to be able to have fun with the boys once in a while without Austin's absence hanging over us like a black cloud. But that black cloud brings us comfort in reminding us that once he was here, loving us conconditionally, making us feel safe, making us laugh, driving us crazy, holding us, taking care of us and giving us the privilege of doing all these things for him. We miss him, we talk about him to keep his influence alive, we miss him more but we don't want to stop missing him. It's such a double-edged sword or one big round crazy circle of grief.

We want to be able to have some fun, keep him with us, yet not be overwhelmed with the grief. How is this possible? Will we ever be able to achieve it? I guess just knowing that we're aiming to achieve that one day is progress.

Yet everyday I feel sad for the boys that they don't have their Dad and I feel sad for Austin that he's missing out on so many wonderful things as they grow older. The boys want to build a bike ramp this weekend and the three of them would have had so much fun building it together. Instead, the three of us will try and figure it out together and the boys will have a subpar ramp compared to what they'd have if their Dad was still here. Sometimes I get so angry that my two great kids don't get to grow up with two parents, like they deserve, like it was supposed to be. But then I take a deep breath, count some blessings and keep going. Back to that big round crazy circle of grief. 'Cause there's no other choice....

Timeless Love

2010-05-09T12:57:00.001-06:00

I heard this song last night for the first time in a long time. Now that Austin isn't here, the song has a different meaning to me than it did 59 1/2 weeks ago, as does most music. I wanted to share it with you, in case it means something to one of you. In case you don't know, Burton Cummings was the lead singer of the Canadian band, The Guess Who in the 60's and 70's (and beyond).

Timeless Love
Timeless love is livin' on
Here in my heart baby
And here in my song

I miss your laugh
And I miss your smiles
I hope you hear this
Across the miles
And if ya do,
Maybe my nights won't seem as long

So I'll sing about you
In the morning sun
And I'll sing about you
When my music's all done
Then I'll smile
'Cause it feels good even missin' ya

So I'll sing about the day you said goodbye
Then I'll sing one to many and I'll start to cry
But that's OK
'Cause it feels good even missin' ya

Cry my memories away
They haunt me by night, honey
And they chase me by day
I think about what I left behind
A piece of my heart and a piece of my mind
But still and all
They weren't enough to make you want to stay

So I'll sing about you
In the morning sun
And I'll sing about you
When my music's all done
Then I'll smile
'Cause it feels good even missin' ya

So I'll sing about the day you said goodbye
Then I'll sing one to many and I'll start to cry
But that's OK
'Cause it feels good even missin' ya

I'm Still Here

2010-05-09T08:28:00.001-06:00

Hi to all my cyberfriends and people who used to read my posts :) Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms out there.

I have not had much to say lately, I've been very busy with work, and I was sick with the stomach flu/food poisoning. I don't want to bore people with my ramblings when I have nothing to say, so I've stayed silent. With previous posts I've always felt like something inside me needed to get out, and so I wrote. I haven't had that urge lately, but I've also been so busy that I haven't quieted myself long enough to really be present in my head long enough to realize if there was anything needing to be expressed. I don't know when I'm going to have the chance to spend some quiet time with myself for longer than the time it takes to write this brief post, but I'm going to try and find a litttle time this weekend to check in with myself. If anything interesting comes up, I'll let you know.

I do know that through the busy days and weeks, when I often feel like I'm on the proverbial gerbil wheel of life, I still miss Austin deeply and I still find tears running down my cheeks at the strangest times: when I'm making dinner and a memory comes crashing down or when the boys are enjoying hanging out together and I glance over to catch his eye with the look of "that's why we had two kids...isn't it great that they love each other for this minute" and he's not there. I still think of him constantly and while it may not be every second that I ache for him, it's at least every minute. Throughout the craziness of my day I push away the grief, until I lay down in bed and the it is allowed to pour over me. But I always miss him, love him and long for him.

As I live through year two, I agree with all the people who have travelled this road before me and describe the second year as being just as tough as the first year, in many ways. In some ways, living through all the occasions and holidays this year are even harder. There is no protection that comes with still being in shock. There is the thought that we've done it once so this time it should be easier, but it isn't. And that fact in itself adds to the grief. Then there's the overwhelming thought that we've now lived two __________ (fill in the latest date or event here) without him. How is that possible??????

But in general, the boys and I are doing better. We cope, we run on our gerbil wheel of life. We're (read me, my parents and a couple other adult helpers, not the boys) busy planning to move a sailboat about 1800 km to the ocean in the summer. That's a huge undertaking and sometimes I can't believe I'm doing this without Austin. But I learned a lot from him and the boys and I need this smaller boat at the coast if we're going to be able to sail without him. And we want to keep sailing. I'm also very busy with work, as always. The boys are busy with school, piano, band, friends and now mountain biking. I'm starting a Master's Program in January (part time, after work), which I now need to get registered for and write application documents. And I still try to keep my house fairly clean, my kids fed, my yard looking ok and my community committments met.  Plus, there's always grief ready to smack me on the head when I forget to give it the attention and work it needs to get a little smaller and more manageable. Life on the gerbil wheel is going very fast and that whirlwind can be both helpful and overwhelming on my healing journey.

I want to close with a quote I read this morning in the little book I try to read every morning or night. It's called "Healing After Loss" and it offers daily meditations or thoughts that often make me cry or make me think and hopefully move me forward on my healing journey. Today's entry:

     "These times of grieving the loss of a loved one are times of change. It is as though we leave forever a room where we have been comfortable and fuctioning well, and enter a new room. Some of the same furnishings are there, and some of the same people, but the room is different nonetheless and requires a whole new adaptation from us -- and, probably, from the others in the room with us.
     We have choices. We can hide in a corner, cowering, unwilling to look around. We can tear around mindlessly, looking for an escape, though we know there is none. Or we can look around, see where the windows are and where doors open into the future, for the door we cam through is closed. We can look for people who can help us -- and begin to attend to this life, day by day."

I'm going to attend to my life today by spending time with my kids and being grateful that I have two wonderful boys, going to church, doing a little housework, doing a little school work, and wishing Austin was here to share in it all. Hopefully I'll get a little time to spend with myself, just being. And hopefully I will move just a little more ahead on my healing journey.

I Miss You

2010-04-17T10:30:00.001-06:00

My love,

Spring is in the air, finally! We've had snow and a major windstorm since March 20th, the first day of spring and the anniversary of the day you died, but it seems that spring is finally going to show itself to us. And I was so looking forward to last night, when the night was going to be warm enough to spend some time outside before the mosquitoes hit in a few weeks. In my mind, it was going to be just what I needed.

http://nonipatterns.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/tulips.jpg

Last night was the 56th Friday I have lived since you died. It had been a very busy week with boys' after school activities, work, extra marking and report cards and I had to deal with a few extra issues that the boys had this week. It was typical teenage friend-peer relationship issues, but they were one more thing that just filled my week. I was up until midnight every night and I was so looking forward to doing nothing last night and having time to catch my breath and rejuvenate. I was anticipating and predicting a peaceful night. I was wrong.

The waves of grief crashed on my shore last night. They were very powerful and loud and I felt very lost without you. Instead of feeling like I was catching my breath and rejuvenating, I feltl like was drowning in my grief. It was like I finally made it to calm waters for the first time in a long while and the grief waves said "Oh good, she's finally still. Let's get her!".

Last night was a beautiful spring night, the kind of evening when we'd sit out on our deck, have a glass of wine or a beer, talk over our week and plan the weekend ahead. It was the type of night when we would have counted our blessings and enjoyed the chance just to hang out together. But doing that without you is empty and I couldn't even drag my butt outside because the pain of you not being there kept me trapped in the house. Sometimes the void you left when you died completely consumes and immobilizes me. And last night was one of those nights. I couldn't enjoy the beauty around me and the blessings in my life because my heart and my head were completely consumed by your absence and how the night couldn't be all that it should have been because you weren't here.

This morning I awoke to a gorgeous blue sky and the sound of birds chirping in the trees. I slept 9 hours last night and started to replenish my lack of sleep from the busy week gone by. It's going to be 21 degrees (celcius) here today, for the first time in months. The boys and I are going to clean the house (because it looks like a bomb went off inside, after a week of no house cleaning - you remember, I'm sure!) and then we're going to do some outside stuff. Perhaps we'll clean the van, or rake the lawn, or take down the Christmas lights and just enjoy the sunlight on our faces. Then we're hosting a friend and her dog for dinner. She's going through some tough times too, and it will be good to have another adult to talk to, out on the deck on another beautiful spring night.

Sleep (while dreaming of sailing with you) and sunshine this morning have lifted my spirits a little. Today is a new day, and the type of day you would have loved. So I'm going to enjoy it as much as I can, but sitting out on the deck tonight, I'll still miss you. Even when life goes on around me and I have a smile on my face, I still miss you. It's just that sometimes the missing is overwhelming and sometimes the missing is manageable. Last night was overwhelming, today feels like it will be manageable. And tomorrow is another day, which will be what it will be. It's impossible to predict. The one constant is we all miss you, more than words could ever explain to anyone who is fortunate enough to not be living a life without their love or their Dad.

We miss you in hundreds of different ways every day and your absence is on our minds every second we're awake, and often when we're sleeping. There is no respite from your absence for us. But that is because we loved each other completely and unconditionally and all four of us were completely woven into the fabric of our existence that is our family. So there is no respite from your absence as we figure out how to live life without you. Sometimes I envy the people who also loved you, family and friends, who get respite from your absence because they weren't so connected to you, so intertwined with you. But then I remember all that was and is part of my life because of our connection, our love, and I know I wouldn't trade a moment of our history for a moment away from the grief. So there is no choice today. I will feel the sunshine on my face and I will miss you.

from http://www.wallpaperbase.com/wallpapers/landscape/sunshine/sunshine_3.jpg

His Clothes

2010-04-11T14:04:00.001-06:00

Happy Belated Easter, everyone. We were away over the holiday, spending time with family in Edmonton, shopping, seeing a movie and just enjoying some time away from reality. It was a fun and busy time and I was slightly dreading coming home because for months I've been planning to put away Austin's clothes after Easter, during our spring break from school.

After he died, I found comfort in being surrounded by his clothes and "stuff" in our bedroom. It was almost as if he had just stepped out for a while and would be back.  Much of what was important to him was around me, which made me feel like he was still around, and that was comforting as I was lost on a sea of grief surrounded by unknowns and overwhelming sadness. His stuff was representative of him. I'd sink my face into his closet and just inhale him (even though it didn't take long for his scent to leave, I could still catch traces of him amongst the fabric). I'd wear his t-shirts to bed. I ran my hands over the fleece jacket and pair of jeans that he had hung on the back of our ensuite door the day before he died. I even would lay a shirt of his in our bed, over a pillow, and snuggle with it as I went to sleep. It was a poor Austin stand in, but it was all I had and it brought me momentary comfort one night. His clothes brought me small moments of comfort for quite a while, until one day they started to taunt me.

Our closet is open to our bedroom with curtains instead of closet doors, as this gave us much more room.   Austin installed a wonderful closet organizer and we loved our open storage solution. But the problem with the open concept is that one day (I don't remember exactly when but it would have been around Christmas), his clothes just started to overwhelm me. It was as if they were chanting "na na na na na, he's not coming back, na na na na na, we're all that you have left". I'd close the curtain, turn away and literally have to take deep breaths before I went into an all out panic attack. After a few episodes like this I decided that I needed to put the clothes away, after consulting with the boys to see if they have any desires for their Dad's clothes. They are too small to wear Austin's clothes, though they each have a t-shirt that they wear sometimes for bed. But they didn't want me to give away anything because they think that when they grow bigger they will want their Dad's clothes. Chances are, when they get to adult size, they aren't going to want much, but I am not willing to risk getting rid of something they may want one day that would be irreplaceable, so I had to find storage for Austin's clothes.

I spent the next month or so, whenever I had time, going through our basement storage area. Austin and I had started the process about 18 months ago, going through all of our old "treasures" and getting rid of what we could. But we never finished the process, and then after he died the back room became a bit of a dumping ground. There was no way all of Austin's clothes would fit into our storage area. So I went to work clearning clutter and getting rid of all the crap we'd accumulated over two lifetimes. I ended up getting rid of a lot of my old junk but I couldn't get rid of much of his stuff. Now that he's gone everything he'd saved over the years feels like treasure. I hope that one day I can purge his stuff more thoroughly, 'cause not everything is treasure, but for now it is. The good news is that my efforts paid off and I had room to move in Austin's clothes.

I decided to wait for Easter holidays so I would have time to go through everything thoroughly and to grieve as much as much as I needed to. It wasn't the type of job to do in the evening, after work and after making dinner, before putting the kids to bed. So I waited a few more weeks, while the clothes continued to be mostly comfortless, so that I could spend all the time I needed over the school holiday. I found the storage containers which would be best for our storage area and I invested in a bunch of vacuum storage bags, so the clothes would take up less room and be protected from dust. I spent moments with my head buried in his clothes, ran my hands through his side of the closet and even took pictures. I was ready to put them away.

We got home on Tuesday night from our Easter trip and by Wednesday morning I was getting organized, bringing in the containers, the vacuum to suck the air out of the storage bags and the boys, to have one last look through everything to make sure there wasn't something they wanted right now. They each chose a sweater and our eldest chose an old sports jacket, which will fit him within a year or two, and does look "cool" on him. But that was it and I had to quit procrastinating. So I began my day long task of packing Austin's clothes.

I went through every item, from the small and insignificant to the memory laden. I touched everything, I folded everything, smelled everything (especially his hats because they still smell a little like him) and I organized everything in appropriate vacuum bags. I shed tears over some of his clothes when the memories were too overwhelming to hold inside and I cried much of the time because I was packing up my dead husband's clothes. It was surreal and overwhelming at times, but I felt I owed it to him to pack everything up myself. It was one of the remaining things I could do for him. When he was alive I liked doing things for him as he was always doing things for me and I'm running out of things I can do, with him being dead and all. So it was important for me to do this, and I did. Everything got folded and put away, the air got sucked out of the vacuum bags, they got stored in containers, which were then labeled and then the boys and I hauled them downstairs to their storage spot. We can easily access things when or if we need to, but I no longer have his clothes taunting me. I know he's not coming back and his clothes really don't represent him or what he leaves behind. The two young men who live in my house, who become more like their Dad everyday, who mean everything to me, who I love "to infinity and beyond" and who drive me crazy sometimes, are the two very best things that Austin left behind. Plus there are all the treasures, the pictures, the sailboats and the irreplacable memories. I don't need his clothes hanging in the closet to access all those things. And besides, Austin would say that his clothes weren't important and that he'd prefer to wear an old pair of jeans or shorts and a t-shirt anyday. Putting away his clothes was the right thing for me and this was the right time. I've started to learn to trust my instincts.

I still have a lot of Austin's "stuff" in our room. I have a few of his shirts still hanging in the closet, the ones that were special to both of us. His jeans and fleece jacket are still on the back of our ensuite door. I've put away some of his "treasures", but many remain, including many family pictures. His top drawer is still his, full of things I can hold in my hand which immediately bring a flood of memories. His toothbrush is still next to mine, his shaving stuff is still in the medicine cabinet. I haven't erased him from our bedroom, but I have reduced the quantity of his stuff to make the memories and the weight of his absence manageable for me. I feel an inkling of guilt that I now have a lot more closet room and a few more dresser drawers. But that guilt is fleeting. I'm surviving the death of my husband.  The least I deserve is a little extra storage space, which I would trade in an instant if it meant I could have him back. But since life doesn't work that way, I'll try to enjoy my extra space and breathe easier, since his clothes are no longer taunting me.

Emails and Realities of the Heart

2010-03-31T18:10:00.001-06:00

Austin and I had the same email address at home. Email came into our lives after we were already married and we never found a reason to have our own individual email addresses. We had a joint address for our entire marriage, which suited both of us just fine. Austin wasn't a big email fan, though at work he had to use it constantly. So at home, I was the one who'd check the email and let him know if he had to get back to anyone, or let him know that one of his friends had sent him a "funny". I was used to always getting email for both of us. Once he died, all the personal emails to him obviously stopped coming. Only two business emails continued to arrive. One was from Air Miles and one was from Lions Club International. Austin was a member of our local Lions Club and for the past year he has continued to receive the occassional email about upcoming international meetings. He's off the local club email list but he remained on this last list because the person who sends out the emails lives somewhere in the U.S. and obviously doesn't know that my husband died. How could he? For the past year, everytime I got an email for Austin from this group, I'd feel sad, smile a little and then delete it. It used to make me feel closer to him, like he was a little less dead. (Yes, that's just like being a little less pregnant.  There's my attempt at widow humour for today!) Those emails were tangible proof that he had existed, and for a second I was still his wife getting his email.   And then I got another email today.

This afternoon, when another email arrived, it made me feel overwhelmingly sad. I no longer felt closer to him because I got an email for him. He's not a little less dead. HE'S DEAD!!! AND HE'S NEVER COMING BACK!! It's like a lightbulb just turned on in my heart and illuminated my reality. My husband is dead.

So I decided that I needed to do something about this email. I sent a reply asking the sender to remove my email address from his list because my husband died a year ago. A YEAR AGO?? REALLY??? As I read over my email, before I pressed send, tears rolled down my cheek. It's the first time I've typed those words someplace other than here, in my safe zone. I've said those words but to type those words to a complete stranger made it feel so real and final. And guess what? IT IS! Austin is dead.   He's never coming back to my sons and I. They will grow into men without the loving and wise influence of their Dad. I will grow old without the love of my life. We will never be grandparents together, be retired together, sail the world together or die together holding hands (Austin's plan for us when I was 85 and he was a healthy 100). He's gone on before us. Our life paths have diverged, and I'm on the road less taken.

Ok, I can hear some of you yelling, "DUH! You've been writing about his death for a year now. Of course he's dead!" My head has known it since 11:45am on March 20, 2009, when the doctor looked at me and said that they were going to stop CPR, because it had been going on too long and he wasn't going to come back. My head has known it since then. My heart has ached over his absence every moment since then, sometimes aching so badly I was sure it would break in two. I'm sure it will ache for the rest of my life. But today, my heart finally gave in and accepted the fact that Austin is dead. I know, some of you are worrying about my sanity right now. But those of you who get it, who are living this reality, will hopefully understand how it is that my heart took a year to catch up to my head.

The question that keeps popping into my head now is, "So, what does this mean? What difference is this going to make to my reality?" Probably no difference. Except that I won't be getting emails from Lions Club International anymore. Now I just have to tackle Air Miles, which seems more complicated than a reply email, so I think I'll think about it tomorrow. I've done enough grief work for one day.

What was it really like?

2010-03-28T17:12:00.016-06:00

A few good friends have touched base with me this week, after all the activity of last weekend was over, to find out how the boys and I are. It was so thoughtful of them to think of calling us after the one year mark, knowing intuitively that after-the-fact was when I was going to really need some friendship and an ear to hear me. The one question they all wanted to know was what was the weekend really like? Not just it was busy and we had many people around us, but what was I really feeling? How were the boys really doing? What is it really like to have survived a year without the love of my life? So I thought I'd address these questions in this post, in case someone reading this is looking for a little foreshadowing of a time that is coming up in their future, or is looking for a little confirmation that they are not going crazy, or is looking for suggestions as to how to support someone who is going through a similar situation.

So, what was it really like? It was almost as bad as going back to the beginning, except this time I knew I would survive and the sun would eventually peek out from behind the black cloud that engulfed me.

Of course, as you know from my previous posts, I really found myself counting down all week, remembering all the things that happened the previous year. Friday the 19th, the boys and I stayed home from school because I knew after working during Austin's birthday on March 4th that there was no way I'd be able to make it through the day without breaking down several times. Plus the school was holding an assembly to honour Austin and play a favorite Jimmy Buffet song, which was very touching but I knew that there was no way the boys and I wanted to be present for it. Friday the 19th really felt like the one year mark since Austin died on a Friday, and I spent the morning reliving every excrutiating detail of the last morning of his life. I've thought about it many times since he died, but I really relived it on the 19th, and it was gut wrenching, overwhelming, painful and exhausting. Of course you already know that Friday afternoon was spent saying goodbye to Caeleigh, which was also incredibly difficult for the boys and I. I held them in my arms as they sobbed when Caeleigh was taken away and as we cried together, the tears we shed were for Caeleigh and Austin. The black cloud had settled in for the weekend.

Saturday morning, the actual one year mark, was spent getting food ready for supper and dealing with my children fighting. I just pushed my emotions down, as I had the evening before. I did what I had to do to get ready for our little Austin party. The boys were obviously feeling great emotions but they didn't want to talk about it, they just wanted to hurt each other. I wasn't surprised, but I sent them each to their rooms so they could have some quiet time and asked them to spend the time writing a letter to their Dad, as a way to get out all those pent up emotions. Sadness and anger have to come out somehow, and on that Saturday morning I needed it to come out on paper or through words and tears, rather than by inflicting injury on each other. Then we were off to spend a little time on our boat that we're taking to the ocean this summer, as Austin's old friend, who previously owned the boat, was in town for the party and I had lots of questions for him. It was great to spend time on the boat, exactly where Austin would want to be. For the only time that weekend I didn't have to quash my emotions or pretend what I was feeling. It only would have been better if the boat was in the ocean.

That evening, we hosted Austin's party. Good friends were there, we ate some of Austin's favorite foods, we sang some of his favorite songs, we watched him on DVD and we talked about him. It was good to honour him in that way. I actually felt ok, but it was incredibly painful to be around all of our couple friends. When you've been part of a great couple and then you aren't, being around other couples, even when you love the people, is very difficult. It accentuates all that I've lost, just as the boys being around other kids who are with their Dads only accentuates the fact that their Dad is gone. Yes, he is still with us in all that we experienced together, in all that was important to him, in all that made him joyful and laugh, but his physical presence was so powerful and loving. And the absence of that physical presence is what knocks us to our knees. It's no one's fault that us being around them makes it hard for us, it just is. I believe that the anguish isn't quite as overwhelming now, but it is still always present when we are reminded of what we no longer have. The solution? To isolate ourselves from many people who know us and care about us and to make new contacts and friends who don't bring jolts of pain to our lives. It isn't a permanent solution, but it is sometimes a respite from having to feel bad.

I digress. Saturday night ended before midnight and then we all met up for brunch before everyone went on their way, returning back to their lives. Brunch was nice. Eating out for breakfast was a favorite of Austin's, so it seemed like a fitting way to end the weekend. But when people were ordering and a couple of comments were made between husbands and wives about ordering similar items, I had to swallow my tears and prevent myself from running away screaming. Austin and I always (ok, 90% of the time) ended up ordering the same thing when we were out at a restaurant. We didn't plan it, it just happened. Austin used to say it was because we were so in sync with each other and we loved the same things. He was right. And so to be out eating with couples who were innocently commenting on this brought anguish to my heart. It's amazing how many innocent comments made by unsuspecting people who would never want to hurt us can send a metaphorical spike right through our hearts. I imagine that as time moves on, fewer comments will affect me in this way, but right now, at the start of year two, they cut to the core for all three of us.

Brunch ended without me running away and everyone went on their way, back to their lives and we returned to our reality. And the black cloud that had been settling in all weekend, started to choke me. As the boys went downstairs to watch a movie, their way of taking some time for themselves, I sat on the couch and just starting sobbing. I miss him, the boys miss him and we don't want to have to live the rest of our lives without him. For some, those would just be nice words but for the boys and I they are deeply felt, overwhelming emotions. I really don't remember Sunday afternoon passing, I was so overwhelmed with grief. Somehow I got the boys something for supper, but I don't remember what it was, and I got them off to bed. Once they were in bed, I let my anguish continue to come out and my grief immobilized me like it hasn't in a very long time.

Monday morning arrived and we were exhausted, but somehow the sun did come out. We made it through our day at school and all went to bed early that night, trying to catch up on the sleep that had been so elusive all weekend. As the week progressed, we caught up on sleep and the black cloud of grief started to lift. My parents came for a visit, which has been very helpful in pulling us out of our deep sorrow.

So, what was it really like? Hard, extremely hard, and for much longer than I thought it would be.  I knew that passing the one year mark would not be like flipping a grief switch, but for those people out there who are lucky enough to not understand this deep grief, you should know that day #373 feels just as bad as the bad days before it.  Grief is not linear.  Thankfully it gives us respite at times, and those moments of respite appear more as time moves on. But the deep troughs of grief do not leave us just because we've made it a year and passed all those first anniversaries. They still remain and we still fall into them.

If you want to be a good friend to a grieving person who is in a trough of grief, you can try the following:
1.   Be there to support them while they're in the trough by really listening without getting impatient when you hear the same thing for the ten thousandth time. You might have had a really bad day too, but if you've still got your husband or wife beside you, even if they are driving you crazy, you don't get to complain about them or anything in your life to a friend who's in the trough of grief, not if you want to be a good friend. When we've crawled out of the trough, we'll be there to listen to you and your issues. Thank you for your patience.
2.   Bringd them food once in a while when you know they are deep in a trough and aren't able to function. I've been so lucky to have my Mom put many meals in my freezer and occassionally friends will feed us. As a single working parent who is still grieving, every effort is appreciated so much.
3. Help with their kids in anyway you can. If the children are young, give your friend some babysitting time, or take the kids out to do something you know they'll enjoy. It not only gives your friend some time to catch up on work, or catch up on grieving, but it gives the kids some joy and fun, which is priceless for the grieving parent.

Then, when your grieving friend is ready, you can help them crawl out of the trough, when they are ready to emerge into the sun again. Share a glass of wine with them, go out for dinner with them, help them do yard work or go to a movie. Just share something that has potential to be fun and see what happens.

How was it? Hard, terribly hard. But I'm grateful to everyone, family and friends, who support the boys and I in so many different ways. You all know who you are. And I thank you, from the bottom of my broken heart. We would not be surviving as well as we are without you.

What We've Learned as we Begin Year Two

2010-03-26T15:16:00.004-06:00

Well, we made it through the first year. All the firsts are over with. Part of that is relieving but it is certainly bittersweet to realize we've lived all those firsts without him. The days have dragged on incessantly but the year has gone by quicker than I imagined it would.

As I mentioned in my last post, my letter to Austin, the boys and I have changed since he died. We have shorter tempers, we get tired and grumpy more easily and we find it harder to get really excited about things. Joy is more elusive since Austin died. We have less patience for people who get upset or stressed over what we now view as little, insignificant things. And we never eat supper at the table anymore. We have to get back there, eating as a family. It has been the one family thing we have avoided since Austin died. Partly because his absence leaves such a big void, but also because we've (mostly I've) grown lazy since he died. We like eating in front of the T.V.. Next week, I'm going to get us back to the table.

But we have also made some positive changes. We are more compassionate and understanding of other people who are dealing with tough things in their lives. We appreciate each other more, even when we are tired and grumpy. We have become a much more independent and self-sufficient family, while becoming more interdependent on each other. We have become a team, the Three Amigos, the Three Muskateers, Larry, Mo and Curly. We are a team until teen hormones kick in, then I'm a solo parenting act. And I hate that.

I've compiled a list of things we do now that we didn't do prior to March 20, 2009. This is in no way meant to be a complete list 'cause I know I've left things out, but I feel the need to give my little family of three a pat on the back for what we've figured out over the past year, with lots of help from the people around us:

I no longer worry that I'll blow up the back deck when I light the BBQ. Heck, I let the boys light the BBQ now, under my supervision of course.
I know what to do when a pipe leaks and water pours into my basement, after yelling, swearing and running for towels.
I'm no longer nervous about being the only adult in the house after dark. And the boys are armed with their air-soft BB guns (you must have young boys to fully appreciate that one).
We've learned what a whirly bird is and why we have two on top of my house. We've also learned how to change a whirly bird and for the first time ever, we've been on the roof of the house. The excitement never ends.
The boys and I bought, assembled and learned how to start our new lawn mower and mow the lawn (ok, I knew how to mow lawns before but Austin always did it so I didn't).
We've learned that our furnace has an on/off switch and when my son accidentally turns it off, it doesn't mean the furnace has quit.
I've learned what to do when the washer clunks, then quits. (FYI, in case it hasn't happened to you yet, research for an hour on the Consumer Reports website, go to local furniture store who delivers, installs and takes the old, broken ones away and buy the shiny new red washer and dryer which are on sale, not the ones recommended during all the research. I love them!)
I've learned where to buy salt for the water softener and the boys and I have learned to carry it in the house and dump it in. The bags are very heavy. I'd forgotten just how strong Austin was.
I've learned to paint walls on my own. Austin was the artist in the family and very much the main painter. I enlisted my youngest son to help, and we managed to do a pretty good job of touching up a few walls. We know Austin would be impressed.
We've learned to shovel dog poop. We hate this job and we want to come up with a more appropriate place for our dog to "do her business" than the lawn. Any suggestions?
The boys have learned to vacuum and dust, the two jobs their Dad did every week. They aren't quite as thorough as he was, but they're learning. They're also learning how to wash floors and clean bathrooms. I'm learning that if I buy the lastest Swiffer duster or vacuum, in other words gadgets, the boys are much more likely to pitch in. It's much cheaper than having to hire a cleaning lady so I don't completely lose my sanity.
I've learned how to rely on others, something I've never done before. I don't like to impose on people, but since my Renaissance man no longer is here, I've had to learn to ask for help. I now ask my neighbour when I don't understand why the whirly bird on top of my roof is making a terrible noise. I asked friends to help install the new dishwasher after the old one stopped working. I've learned to hire a contractor, which we never did before because Austin did all the work around our house. I've followed through with some plans we'd made for the house before he died, with the help of my great contractor.
I've learned how to fall asleep without him beside me, emanating body heat rhythmic breathing.
I've learned how to wake up without the smell of coffee and his arms around me while I snuggled in beside him for just 10 more minutes of sleep.
I've learned to exist as a teacher without him in the building with me, something I've never done before.
I've learned to drive everywhere my kids and I need to go. I used to enjoy being the passenger who got to have a snooze whenever I wanted to, and Austin enjoyed being the driver. My almost 14 year old son has joyfully let me know that in less than 18 months he will have his learner's license and he'll be able to help share the driving. I replied that yes, that will be great, but there is no way I'll be sleeping when my 15 year old is learning to drive.
I'm learning all that is involved in moving our 24 foot sailboat to the ocean and getting her ready to launch. Let's just say it's a huge project and I'm crazy, but I am enjoying the challenge. More on this adventure in a later post.

I must clarify that before Austin died, I would have told you that I was a very independent woman. Austin and I divided our family's responsibilities down the middle and I was definitely a strong, opinionated and valuable partner in our marriage. Now that I'm responsible for everything, I feel less independent and willing to listen to all opinions before being forced to make decisions. I wonder if this is the new me, or am I just in transition, still reeling from Austin's death. Will the old me re-emerge at some point? I hope that as I move through this second year without my love, I continue to reshape myself, physically and emotionally, so that his death won't just be about pain, loss, devastation, sadness, loneliness and the void that he's left. I want to make this hell we're going through count for something, to produce something positive. Because if his death only creates more negativity, and nothing positive emerges out of the ashes, then the tragedy will be compounded. And we could us a little positive energy emerging from the ashes, as I'm sure everyone who's reading this blog can. Here's to positive energy.

http://greatestsip.gvcwebdevclass.com/assets/images/white_wine_glass.jpg

One Year Ago: A Letter to Austin

2010-03-20T08:53:00.003-06:00

My love,

I have spent this whole week thinking about "one year ago".  Little did we know it would be the last week of your life. One year ago from last Saturday, we had a wonderful Saturday afternoon and evening with dear old friends, celebrating the upcoming St. Patrick's Day by drinking Irish beer and eating Irish food. We had fun watching the kids having a blast playing Rock Band and you and I sang "Hotel California" together while our sons played the guitar and the drums. It was a great time.

You went skiing with the school (including our sons) one year ago on Tuesday and had a great day of spring skiing. I couldn't join you, for the first time ever, because I had to go to Saskatoon to have a medical test. But I got home before you and the boys and I barbequed steak in the sunshine, as per your request when I called after my appointment to see what you wanted for supper. I'd never lit the BBQ by myself before (that sounds so lame to admit, but it's true) and I was so proud of myself for accomplishing it without blowing up the deck. Little did I know how much I'd have to learn to do for myself very soon.

Natasha Richardson, the actress, died on the 18th one year ago, and I remember just feeling so sad for her family, having to deal with her sudden and unexpected death.  She had two young boys and I remember thinking how awful it was that those boys were going to have to grow up without their Mom.  I remember thinking that children shouldn't have to grow up without both their parents and how lucky our kids were to have both of us. Do you think I jinxed our family by thinking that? Do you think that God, or the fates, or whatever, heard my gratitude and said, "Oh yah, don't be so sure" and took you from us? Or was her death being plastered all over the news just one of those strange events, which when looked at in hindsight, helped prepare us for what was to come?

You had a lot of stress around work that week, and looking back I wish things had been handled differently to help you deal with the stress. You know I supported you 100%. I have a sweet memory of laying with you on our bed on Monday after school, when the stress load was starting to weigh heavy on you, and I just held you in my arms and told you everything was going to work out ok. I thought it would pass. I never thought in my wildest nightmares that it would pass because you would die.

On Thursday night, one year ago, you had a meeting, so I took the boys to band on my own. Now I take them every week on my own, but a year ago that was a rare occurrence, happening only when you had a meeting. One year ago, the boys and I got new patio lights and an outdoor candle holder, which we were so excited to show you. We were ready for spring, and you loved our finds. Eventually the boys went to bed and you and I got in our pj's and snuggled on the couch watching ER and Grey's. It had been a long week and we were both exhausted. But as we kissed goodnight and held hands while we fell asleep, as we always did, I felt the weekend held great promise for us. We were set to chaperone a student dance on Friday night, but then we'd have the weekend to rejuvenate, to talk about things, to sleep in, to spend time together, to share a glass or two of wine, to just hang with the boys. I used to look forward to weekends so much. I don't look forward to them as much anymore.

The next morning, Friday, March 20th, 2009, was the first morning of spring. You loved spring, but you weren't feeling well that morning. I was busy tidying the house and getting the kids ready for school, where I had to be earlier than usual as I had a meeting. I didn't give you the time or attention I should have that morning. It's one of my greatest regrets, but I've learned to forgive myself for that, because you would have told me, had you survived your heart attack, that I shouldn't feel guilty.  I thought we'd have all weekend to nurse you back to health and that we just needed to get through Friday. WRONG! I don't feel like I can relive all the details of that horrible morning right now, and you know them all, some much more intimately than I do. The bottom line is that you collapsed in your office at school, the paramedics arrived and took you to the local hospital where you were stabalized (including being shocked about 7 times) and then transferred to the bigger city hospital, where you died between 11:40 and 11:45 am.   Your heart attack most certainly started at home that morning, and I was unaware. It is shocking to me that you were dying and I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me to get you to the hospital? Why didn't you chew on an aspirin or two? Would that have made a difference? How is it that two people could be as close as we were yet one can be dying and the other doesn't realize it until it's too late? My world and my understanding of life has been turned on its axis.

One year ago I was living through the nightmare that was your death. It was the worst day of my life. I hope I never have to face a more difficult day. The hardest part of this past year has been having to face all the hard times without you. You were my best friend, my biggest cheerleader and my best critic, the one who always had my back, my soft place to fall at the end of a long day, or week, or month. You made me laugh, made me feel safe, and loved me unconditionally. I always felt we could do anything, as long as we were together. And to have to face this worst time in my life without you has been overwhelming, unbelievable difficult and so incredibly lonely.

I do feel that you are still with us, in some respect. I hear your voice when I'm not sure how to do something, or when I wish I could talk to you. It's not really your voice, but your voice in my head when I know what you would say, or just a random thought hits me, which I know must come from you because I never would have thought of it on my own. I've seen you a few times in my dreams and sometimes I just feel your love wash over me. And while I am grateful to have these moments, they pale in comparision to you actually being here.

365 days have passed since I looked into your eyes, heard your voice, touched your skin, inhaled the scent of you or tasted your lips. 365 nights have passed since we lay side by side, reading by our bedside lamps, discussing the day and falling asleep in each other's arms. I cannot believe this much time has passed since you were here because in some respects it seems as though you were here only a few short weeks ago. But in other respects it feels like it's been years since you were here. Our life now is different than when you were still with us. The boys and I are becoming different people. Somedays I wonder if you'd recognize us as the family you adored. We aren't better or worse, just different. We are steel that has been through the fires of grief and we have emerged from the hottest fires forged into different people. It's still hot and I imagine that we will remain among hot coals for the rest of our lives. But we have moments where we find cool ground now and I imagine that as time moves on, the hot coals will be spaced further apart. But they will never disappear. Would you recognize us now, if you reappeared among the coals with us? Would we recognize you? How I wish some type of miracle could make that meeting possible. Instead, we now move into the second year without you. Tonight the boys and I are hosting a party in your honour. We'll listen to your favorite music, watch a few videos of you entertaining us, drink your favorite beverages, eat your favorite food and share our best Austin stories. I hope I feel you with us. And tomorrow, we'll continue living without you, honouring the plans you and I made for our family and our future, but following a road that I never imagined, a journey without you.

Don't think of him as gone away,

his journey's just begun.

Life holds so many facets,

the earth is only one.

Remember him as living,

in the hearts of those he touched.

For nothing loved is ever lost,

and he is loved so much.

Missing and loving our beloved dad, husband, brother, uncle, friend

Caeleigh

2010-03-19T16:58:00.001-06:00

Caeleigh at sea

On August 12th, 1995, Austin and I went for a walk with friends in the village where we lived at the time. Our friends had seen cute puppies under a porch and wanted us to see them. I don't remember why. I don't remember Austin and I even discussing that we wanted a dog. But we got to the porch, and one little cream and tan coloured husky-akita cross puppy looked at Austin and barked a cute little puppy bark. He was convinced that her bark was a sign that she'd make a great watch dog. Somehow we ended up going home with this puppy. I should say we went back to my home, because Austin and I didn't live together. We weren't even engaged. We talked about marriage but nothing was official. And then that sweet bundle of fur came into our lives.

We spent the evening with our friends choosing her name. She was like a party in our lives and we ended up naming her Caeleigh, after the scottish term for a party, "ceilidh". We changed the spelling because we thought it would be easier for others to spell. We were wrong. Thankfully we realized that we need work on our ability to name beings before we had children!

Caeleigh was a beautiful puppy and people would literally stop whoever was walking her on the street to say how cute she was. And she had an amazing temperment and personality. She was calm and loyal and sweet. Austin's first impression that she'd be a great guard dog was very wrong. She only barked when she wanted in the house when it got too cold outside. But she looked a little intimidating, being part akita at over 50 pounds. So Austin, who had already trained her to sit, stay etc., taught her to bark on command, when he moved his fingers in a certain way. She was so damn smart and she got it right away. Austin's theory was that if we ever needed a guard dog she would look and sound intimidating, until she started looking for her treat after barking ferociously!

The day after we got Caeleigh, Austin and I decided we should get married. There was no big proposal, but a loving and sweet discussion between two people who loved each other unconditionally and were ready to make a life together. We got married 4 months later, time passed, Caeleigh grew and eventually we had two babies (21 months apart, not at the same time). She was so good when the boys came along, always gentle and nurturing with them, and extremely tolerant. The boys loved to park cars along her back as she laid on the floor in the middle of their toys. But her true master was Austin. She adored him, followed him everywhere and he was very attached to her. We took her sailing from the start and she was always up for whatever adventure we involved her in, as long as we were there.

Caeleigh staying out of the sun on the beach (Bella in the background)

As the boys grew older, so did Caeleigh, but at a much faster pace than the rest of us. Her eyes started to grow cloudy, she started to get a little hard of hearing, and in the months before Austin died, she started to show her age. But she still made it on her daily walks with a spring in her step, which was impressive for a dog of her size at age 13+. And then Austin died. And grief took its toll on his best canine friend. Her health started to fail, and over the past year her mobility started to suffer greatly with what we believe was degenerative myelopathy. We tried different medications and foods but over the past months the boys and I reached a realization that we were going to have to make a choice to end Caeleigh's life.

Today, two months and twelve days short of her 15th birthday, Caeleigh went home to Austin. We miss her, we love her and we pray that the two of them are enjoying being together again as much as we imagine they are, sailing the seas of heaven. I'm tired of death. Is it too much to ask God for a respite, just for awhile?

Austin and Caeleigh update the sailing log

A Quote

2010-03-11T19:42:00.002-06:00

We're getting close to the one year mark and we have been hearing from a few people, to let us know they're thinking of us as March 20th rolls around. It's a tough time, tougher than I thought it would be, but it does help to know that others are thinking of Austin too. Tonight I got an email from our minister, the one who led Austin's service. At the end of her message was this quote, which I found to be so true and I wanted to share it with you.

You don’t get over it, you just get through it. You don’t get by it, because you can’t get around it. It doesn’t ‘get better’; it just gets different. Everyday, grief puts on a new face. - Wendy Feiereisen

Happy Birthday My Love

2010-03-04T22:19:00.002-06:00

Happy Birthday My Love,

This is the first time March 4th has rolled around since you died and it feels right to the boys and I to still honour the day you were born. If you were here, the day would have started with me kissing you good morning and saying happy birthday, then the four of us would have piled into our bed so the boys and I could give you our presents. We probably would have gotten you some new clothes or some new sailing thing for you to use this summer. We would have then had a normal day of school/work, driving the boys to band practice in the city as I do every Thursday (have I mentioned that I miss you sharing this task with me?), and then we would have returned home to cake and singing and pictures. Once the kids were in bed (like they are now), we would have enjoyed a glass of wine together, or you would have had a scotch and you would have said what a perfect day it was, just having us with you to share in your day. You would have groaned about growing older and I would have teased you about how young I was and we would have cuddled on the couch before bed. This is pretty much how it went every birthday. We held low key adult birthdays in our house, but they always felt perfect.

I wrote you a birthday card last night and read it to you by candlelight. I hope you heard it. The boys and I woke this morning and I made them oatmeal, since you often made it for them and it felt like a good way to start the day with you. We had a busy day at school and while I expected it to go ok, it was a really hard day. There were lots of tears and sadness that I couldn't shake, but people were patient and understanding all day. My family sent beautiful flowers to the boys and I to let us know they were thinking of you and us. Sweet gesture. After school, the boys and I went to band practice as usual, and I did all the weekly errands. We bought you a cake, which we shared when we got home and then we put together the new shelves I bought for the boys' closets. Though they were just prefab shelves, we thought that you'd be proud of us, building on your birthday, since you were an amazing builder of all things. You should have seen the boys putting together their shelves, with only a little guidance from me. You would have been so impressed with them and once again they showed me how much they learned from you in their 10 and 12 years of being your sons. You are always on our minds every day, but those thoughts aren't always overwhelming anymore. Today they were. It was a very hard day.

Your brother called to see how we are. Very sweet of him to think of us on a day that must of had its moments of sadness for him too. A few good friends, who would have called to wish you happy birthday, also called to check on us. So many people are thinking of you today and missing you. It's heartwarming and comforting to know that we aren't alone in our grief.

Here are the pictures from your birthday last year, 16 days before you died. They were the last pictures of you with the boys and I.

My sister says she remembers talking to you that night. She says you were so happy and enjoying our night together as a family (and you were having a scotch!). It was the last time she talked to you and her memory is clear. I don't have as clear of memory from that night. If I had known it would be your last birthday with us, I would have paid much better attention. You should be here right now, celebrating another year around the sun. I miss you more than words could ever convey. I love you to infinity and beyond. I am so grateful for all of the memories we made together, as a couple and as a family. And I am so sad that so many of our plans and dreams for the future will never come true. But our love lives on in me and the boys.

We love you. We miss you. Happy Birthday My Love.

Message from a Bereaved Wife

2010-03-01T17:02:00.003-06:00

from http://www.archindy.org/family/files/bereave-small.jpg

I saw this posted somewhere over the past few months. I wish I could remember where, to give the proper person credit, but I just can't find the original site. I have made a few changes, to make it fit where I am in my journey right now, but it is mostly untouched. Thank you to the person who wrote it.

I see this as important information that those around us should know. I'm lucky in that most people in my life already know much of these details, but this is a good reminder, and valuable information to pass to people who just don't get it (DGI's). It is written from the point of view of a bereaved wife, because that's what I am, but it could very easily apply to a bereaved husband. Grief is not sexist. I hope someone who reads this finds it helpful.

Message from a Bereaved Wife

I wish my husband hadn't died. I wish I had him back.

Please don't be afraid to speak my husband's name. My husband lived and was very important to me. I appreciate hearing that he was important to you as well.

If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my husband, know that it isn't because you have hurt me. My husband 's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my husband, and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.

Please don't feel you need to remove his pictures, artwork, or other remembrances from your home. They are a reminder that he lived and loved. They don't make me sad. The fact that he's dead makes me sad. I love to see pictures of him and things he was a part of.

Being a bereaved wife is not contagious, so please don't shy away from me. I need you more than ever. But sometimes I'm not going to be very fun to be around, or I'm not going to accept your invitation. Please don't give up on me and accept me for being able to do what I can cope with at the time. Just because I've said no to the past four invitations doesn't mean I'm going to say no to the next one. I appreciate you patience with me.

I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I appreciate it if you let me talk about my husband, my favourite topic of the day.

I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my husband's death pains you, too. Please feel free to let me know things through a phone call, a card or a note, or a real big hug.

Please don't expect my grief to be over in this first year. These first 12 months are traumatic for me, but I need you to understand that my grief will never be over. I will always miss my husband, and I will always grieve that he is dead. I will suffer the death of my husband until the day I die.

Please don't expect me "not to think about it" or to "be happy". I always think about him and happiness is something that I can't just make happen, so don't frustrate yourself. On days when I seem happy or seem not to be thinking about it, know that some bereaved wives are Academy Award winning actresses. And even if I'm genuinely happy, I'm still thinking about him every second of every day and wishing he was here.

I don't want to have a "pity party," but I hope you will let me grieve in the way I need to. I must hurt before I can heal. I will let you know what I need and I'd appreciate it if you just accept whatever it is. I'm working really hard on honouring and feeling my grief, so I heal as well as possible. And know that as I'm healing, large scars are being formed on my heart.

I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I'm feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.

When I say, "I'm doing okay," I hope you understand that I don't always feel okay and that I struggle daily with this new reality.

I have many new areas in my life that I'm now solely responsible for, plus grieving the loss of my love, and some days, many days, that is overwhelming. When I became a Mom, I knew that my marriage would always remain, that I'd never be a single parent because of divorce. I never thought about being a single parent because of death. It is so hard to just be the only parent and hold down a full time job, without even adding the overwhelming burden of the grief we all feel. Thank you for your support of my family. We need it now more than ever.

I want you to know that all of the grief reactions I'm having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.

I'm not only taking my life one day at a time, but one hour at a time, one minute at a time. Please be patient with me.

Grief changes people. When my husband died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before my husband died, and I will never be that person again. Please don't look for her. She's not coming back.

I wish very much that you could understand - understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. But I pray daily that you will never understand.

A Gift for Us from a Dental Assistant

2010-02-25T21:46:00.001-06:00

I need to introduce this post by letting you know that my family, Austin, the boys and I, have been going to the same dentist since 2002. And I need to point out that although my husband was a great man with many wonderful qualities, he wasn't perfect. I don't want anyone reading my blog to think that I've moved into the world of denial where some live after the death of a loved one. Austin did not become perfect in my mind when he died. I remember everything, and we did have some ups and downs, as many married people do. But he really was a wonderful husband and father, whose positive qualities far outweighed the ones he needed to work on. I think he'd say the same about me. We loved each other unconditionally and faithfully, but we could also drive each other a little crazy at times :)

Ok, now that you've read the disclaimer, here's my story:

Yesterday, I had to go to the dentist to follow up on a replacement filling that I'm having problems with. I had the same dental assistant yesterday as I had the day I got the filling 10 days ago, just before I left on my trip to the coast. We got talking about why I hadn't come in as soon as the problem developed and I explained that I was away at the coast.

At the end of the appointment we talked a little more, as she is from the coast and wondered where I went on my trip. Then came the question in my head that some of you ask yourself in certain social situations. Do I need to mention that my husband died? At this stage of my grief, I don't always confess in every conversation that he died. Sometimes, when dealing with people I don't know, I will avoid mentioning it. I'm tired of people looking at me with pity in their eyes, feeling bad for me when really all I want to deal with is the fact that I need to get my oil changed, or whatever. I don't play the widow card much anymore. It used to make me almost feel better or bring me an iota of comfort, in a strange kind of way. Now I see it as a more private issue. But the conversation in the dentist office continued to a point where I couldn't avoid saying I went to Galiano to go back to where we spread Austin's ashes. Her response went something like this:

"Your husband DIED??? (Gasp from her) Oh my, aren't you the family who sails? (followed by a yes response from me) Oh no, I'm just so shocked! I remember your husband, and he was always talking about sailing with his family. He wasn't old and he was so ALIVE. Oh, I'm so sorry. It must be so hard for you and your boys. I'm just in shock."

And she was. She looked shocked. I assured her that we were doing fine and admitted that yes it is very hard. And yes, he loved to sail, as do the boys and I. And for some reason I explained that we would be continuing that tradition this coming summer when the boys and I start to learn to sail on our own. She really stopped talking after that, and I made my way to the front of the office, as she took in the news that a man, who she barely new, had died 11 months earlier.

After I paid my bill and walked to my vehicle, I realized that her reaction really was a testimony to the man that Austin was. He made a positive impact on the dental assistant who he saw a few times over 7 years. Not everyone does. And I was lucky to be married to such a great man for 13 years and 3 months. And my sons were lucky to have him as their Dad for 12 years and 10 years. He has left a permanent, loving impact on who we are as people. His love and life force will continue to embrace us and guide us for the rest of our days on this earth. And then, as Dan so poignantly wrote, Austin will be there to guide us onto the next phase of our lives, when we get to see how life here on earth is just a small part of a very big picture .

The time in the dentist's office was a great reminder from a dental assistant, and I didn't even catch her name. I will pay attention and learn her name when I go back for the root canal. And I'm going to thank her for sharing her brief memories of Austin. They made me smile and reminded me of how lucky I was, I am. I don't get enough reminders of that. We all impact people in large and small ways, in positive and negative ways, whether we realize it or not. I'm going to try and follow my husband's example of making a positive impact on the world. No pressure :)

I sure wish he was here in the flesh to talk to about this. I talk to him every day but it just isn't the same when he's not here to answer me. I sure miss looking into his eyes and hearing his voice as we talked about everything. Sigh.... But that's another post.

A Day in the Life of Losing Their Dad

2010-02-23T22:07:00.001-06:00

Yesterday, my 11 year old son and I were having a "discussion" about the state of his room. Bottom line is that it needs to be cleaned up. He loves to collect "treasures", just like his Dad. But I didn't remind him of this genetic similarity to Austin so he could use it to his advantage. I just talked to him about the fact that I needed to be able to walk into his room to kiss him goodnight and I'd appreciate if he put away the clothes that I had washed and folded for him. And by put away, I didn't mean set on the floor, but put in drawers. I'm tired of stubbing my toes when I walk in the room and I'm ready to go on a laundry strike. So when I began our discussion, I was feeling strong and not willing to hear any excuses. It was time to tidy and clean. But his response broke my heart.

He said "Mom, I'm a boy, We have dirty rooms. I'm not a neat and tidy girl, Mom. Boys just are messy and if Dad was here he'd understand that 'cause he'd know what I'm talking about." My conviction lost the air in its sails. Not because he was right, because Austin would have told him that his room needed cleaning too. Austin loved to collect things and accumulate treasures but he didn't like messiness and clothes on the floor. Our son's room still needed to be cleaned. But his response broke my heart because moments like this shine a very bright spotlight on the fact that he doesn't have his Dad anymore. Austin was famous for saying, "it's a boy thing Deb", when I'd look quizically at something the boys and he were doing. I've never been a boy, obviously. And there are some boy things that I just don't get, I just can't get. And my sons have lost their great champion of boys stuff. Damn.

Then last night I had another reminder of the effect of Austin's death on our eldest son. I need to preface this by reminding you that Austin died of a sudden heart attack and telling you that our eldest has had one incident of a panic attack, shortly after Austin's death, where he was worried there was something wrong with his heart. I took him to our wonderful family doctor, he ran some tests and was able to reassure our son that his heart was healthy. As a family we've also taken some preventative measures with healthier eating, taking vitamins and omega 3's and exercising together as a family. My sons have been more successful than I but I've recommitted myself to getting healthy. So I was caught off guard last night when my son came to me after he'd gone to bed, and was upset because he had a pain in his chest. We talked it through, analyzing his pain and what he'd been up to that day and came to the conclusion that it was a muscle issue. I got out a hot water bottle, he had an ibuprofen and we cuddled together on the couch, watching the Olympics while he started to relax and feel better. Eleven months ago, he would not have gotten up, worrying he was having a heart attack. That isn't something a 13 year old should have to worry about yet he does, because he's scared he'll die like his Dad. Damn.

These are just the two latest examples of what Austin's death can do to our kids on a daily basis. Those of us who are dealing with the deaths of our loves, with children at home, face this every day, and some days are worse than others. The spotlight of living without a parent shines brightly at times, and can appear without warning. It's not fair, but it is. It just is. The challenge I face as the surviving parent, the only parent, is how do I finish raising these two amazing boys, young men really, so they still grow into wonderful adults? They are permanently scarred from losing their Dad. How do I make sure it doesn't ruin them? How can I, God help me, turn this loss into something they can learn from and become even better human beings because of it. Is that possible? Is that disrespectful to Austin to even think this way?

Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my grief and my job in making sure our family functions, that I forget the emormity of the loss my sons will live with for the rest of their lives. And I'm determined to make sure that they have a good life, though I can never replace what their Dad would have brought to their lives. Any suggestions?

Salt Water

2010-02-21T17:27:00.008-06:00

“The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea”

~Isak Dinesen

This was a favorite quote of Austin's. I framed it for him many years ago and today it remains framed on a bookshelf in our living room. It's a powerful reminder for me of the three ways that I can help myself to feel better. I can get off my butt and do some hard work or work out, I can let myself be washed in my tears or I can get to the sea. My grief vacation had me doing all three, and it was nourishing for my soul. I have returned home more rested and filled with a new sense of peace and contentment. I have had moments of feeling good during the past week, and I haven't felt anything remotely close to good since Austin died. But feeling better hasn't come with the expense of forgetting him, or my love for him, or our life together. I still have all of those memories and feelings, but they aren't bringing me to my knees like they did before. They still bring tears to my eyes sometimes, but they also bring a smile to my face and to my heart.

During my time at the ocean this past week, I was able to just think about and talk to Austin while sitting on the beach where we spread his ashes. There were no distractions, just the two of us. It was a powerful time. Later, I was able to do some journal writing, getting out so many thoughts and feelings that had been stuck inside me, trapped by regular life and exhaustion, unable to find their way out until I had time to devote to them. I have forgiven myself for not saving him and for not being a perfect wife. I have forgiven him for not saving himself by going to the doctor earlier and for not being the perfect husband. All is forgiven, and that has brought great peace to my soul. While neither of us was perfect, we were amazing together. We loved each other deeply and unconditionally and we were each other's very best friend. I may never find that type of love again and I am so lucky to have experienced it once in my life. I am trying to be thankful for what we had, rather than just focus on all that I have lost. This spirit of gratitude has started to shift my outlook on life and the way I live every day. I could still choose to wallow in my grief, or be thankful for all I had and still have. I'm choosing gratitude. It makes me a better Mom, daughter, sister, friend, teacher and human being. It makes me feel better inside. And I'm going to ride this wave for as long as it lasts.

I'm not naive enough to think that I won't be on my knees or in the fetal position again when grief hits me like a 2x4, but these moments don't come as often these days. I am starting to heal from the overwhelming, can't catch my breath, just let me hide under the covers all day type of grief.

As I was sitting by the ocean one day this past week, I was thinking about the healing that is happening in my life. I saw two different plants around me I realized that they were visual metaphors for my life before and after Austin's death. Before he died, I was a plant who was thriving in fertile soil. I loved and was loved. I was happy. And I didn't pay particular attention to the big rocks which threatened to crush me at any moment. I was too busy leading the life of a busy working wife and mother. Bad things only happened to others and I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about the big rocks of life.

And then, on the first day of spring, March 20th, 2009, my beloved husband had a heart attack. For three hours and 45 minutes he fought to stay alive but at 11:45 am, he died. And the big rock in my garden of life crushed me. I was broken. The rock of grief hit me so many times, that it started to fall apart, until it was like gravel covering my once healthy garden. There was no greenery to be seen and very little sunlight. The world was gray and oppressive. I didn't believe I'd ever feel the weight of grief lift, even for a moment.

And then, after many months of surviving under the gravel of grief, and trying to create a different, but still ok, life for our two sons, I started to feel the sun shining through. It was just for a few seconds at first, but every week it shone for longer. And in those glimpses of sunlight, our sons and I started to thrive a little, smile a little more, sleep a little better, even feel joy for short periods of time. Austin came with us every day in conversations and memories and photographs. And the gravel of grief started to shift. It started to get a little lighter and wasn't quite so oppressive. And we started to grow in this new reality.

The gravel of grief still surrounds us. But we are surviving and thriving through it, inspite of it. We are able to push through this grief and still grow because Austin loved us so well, and we loved him so deeply. That love, which will always remain, gives us strength to push through the gravel and to reach for the sunlight. We still cannot see the fertile soil, but we can feel it under our feet. And the amazing thing about surviving this grief, is that we now see other little plants who are pushing through their own gravel. The rock that crushed them may have been caused by different circumstances, but they are also surviving through their gravel and we are here to cheer each other on. 11 months ago, I probably wouldn't have paid much attention to the little plants in the gravel. I would have looked at them quickly, felt sympathy for them, and then gone on with my busy life. Now I have sympathy and empathy for them, and I take time to listen, to encourage, and to cheer them on. And they do the same for me. Our empathy and compassion for each other helps us to survive and thrive, despite the tragedy that has deeply affected our families.

During my time at the coast, I was fortunate to get to spend an evening with two of my fellow little plants growing and thriving in their own gravel (Jackie and Chelsea, I hope you're ok with me referring to you as plants :) ). It was a great evening full of laughter, and widow humour, and shared stories, and lots of nods of heads as we understood what each other was talking about. It's such an amazing experience to spend time with people who understand what you've been through and are going through. We all need support from our families and the people in our day to day lives, but to have support from people who have heard a doctor say, "I'm sorry, but we did all we can do. Your husband died.", is powerful. Spending time with people who've had to tell their own children that their Daddy died, that's priceless. The evening I spent with these amazing women started my week of healing. I look forward to more moments like this in San Diego, with other little plants I've met in cyberspace but haven't been fortunate enough to meet in person yet. The strength and hope I get from these friendships is invaluable to me.

At the end of my life, whenever that may be, I know that surviving Austin's death will have made our sons and I stronger than if we had lived our whole life in that fertile soil with no rocks or gravel impeding our path. And this strength is, and will continue to be, Austin's last and greatest gift to us, the three people he loved and cherished most in this world.

Salt water. It heals and soothes. Here are a few pictures from my sojourn to salt water and healing. The beach is where we spread Austin's ashes this summer, in salt water. As I continue my healing journey, with the steps forwards and backwards that I know will come, I will continue to immerse myself in salt water. It is the cure for anything.

Grief Vacation

2010-02-11T11:50:00.002-06:00

from http://www.markhobson.com/acrylics/images/montague-harbour.jpg

I'm going on a grief vacation. I wish that meant that I was taking a vacation from grief, from longing, from overwhelming sadness, from just missing him more than I ever realized I could ever miss another human being. But I can't take a vacation from these emotions. They are part of my being now, like my skin. I wear them everyday, though I'm getting good at not revealing them to everyone, all the time, like I did when Austin first died. I cover them in a layer of clothing, the fabric of which is made up of smiles, and comments like "we're fine" and all aspects of the busy life I lead as a single working Mom. All of these things weave together to make up the fabric which hides my grief from the rest of the world, most of the time. Sometimes the fabric gets blown open by the wind of sadness and lonliness and the rest of the world can see it for a moment, if they're looking. But usually they aren't. My closest friends see it sometimes, my blog friends see it here and in my emails, sometimes, and my children see it sometimes when they catch me with tears running down my cheeks because some memory or longing has caught me off guard. But usually my grief stays covered, only to be uncovered and laid out in its rawness and nakedness when I am alone, when the kids are asleep, when I'm in the shower, when I have the opportunity to just let it out. And to be honest, that doesn't happen often enough these days, now that I'm almost 11 months into this new reality. And I need to let it out. I need to howl at the moon, to sob myself to sleep loudly, to yell and scream, to watch a movie which will make me bawl my eyes out, to write a letter to Austin, to start to write the story of us, to just crawl into the fetal position and stay there for as long as I need to without any of my responsibilities calling to me. So I'm going on a grief vacation.

And I'm looking forward to it. How crazy is that? If you had told me a year ago, as Austin and I were heading out to the coast, to our boat, to rebuild our delapidated old galley (and looking forward to a romantic Valentine's Day on our boat, just the two of us), that a year later I'd be looking forward to spending a week on my own at the ocean, on our boat, actively grieving for my dead husband, I would have fallen over in disbelief. And then I would have cried and moaned and said that there was no way I'd ever survive losing the love of my life, my best friend and soul mate, my rock, my greatest cheer leader, my soft place to fall.

And yet here I am. Alive. Surviving. Planning ahead. Longing for time in the salt air. Craving time to grieve outloud, to remove my fabric and expose the rawness and nakedness of grief (not real nakedness, God help me. That's another blog!).

But I'm also going to have healing and fun times on my grief vacation. I'm going to spend a wonderful evening with Jackie and Chelsea, celebrating Chelsea's first birthday without her beloved Elias, while sharing and laughing and crying as only fellow widows/widowers can. I'm going to spend a few hours with two very dear friends who have known me for many years, from a time long before Austin came into my life. I'm going to have supper with dear friends of Austin's, who have become important friends to the boys and I. And I'm going to cherish every moment of being able to grieve like I feel the need to. I don't know what it will look like, except I'll being doing lots of thinking, lots of remembering, lots of talking to Austin, some writing, lots of crying and hopefully some smiling, as I remember all the wonderful years I spent with the wonderful man who loved me so well and unconditionally and completely. And maybe, at the end of my 6 days of grief vacation, I'll be ready to face March 20th and the thought of the rest of my life without his physical presence.

I hope so, 'cause there really isn't any other choice. I know I'm so very lucky to have my terrific sister and family step in and take such great care of my boys (and dogs) while I'm gone. And I'm so very lucky to have the resources to make this journey. So I'll count my blessings, and grieve my tremendous loss, and hopefully find a little joy along the way.

Looking for Hope

2010-02-03T22:02:00.002-06:00

( from http://www.insidesocal.com/tomhoffarth/hope.jpg)

Tears have a wisdom all their own. They come when a

person has relaxed enough to let go and to work through

his sorrow. They are the natural bleeding of an

emotional wound, carrying the poison out of the system.

Here lies the road to recovery.

-- F. Alexander Magoun

~~~~~~

What soap is for the body, tears are for the soul.

-- Jewish Proverb

After a busy week at home and work, and feeling much lighter in my mood, I have fallen back into the trough of grief, surrounded by darkness and sadness. I'm back to feeling overwhelming longing for Austin, and complete disbelief that he's gone. I'm back to crying myself to sleep and dreading a future without him. But I've been here before. I know that allowing myself to feel these emotions and wallowing a little in the sadness will help me to climb back out of the trough and back to calm waters. I know that, like the quote above states, my tears are carrying the poison of grief out of my body. So I'm letting them flow. And I'm back to needing to drink lots of water so I don't get dehydrated.

We're almost at 11 months. I'm almost ready to head off on my grief vacation. Friends are getting on with their lives. Aquaintances assume that "that we're over it" and moving on. I think sometimes people forget that Austin died. We live with it every second of our lives. The dichotomy between our lives and those around us is growing wider, when I thought it would grow narrower as time went on. Somedays I feel like I should win an Academy Award, as I go through the motions at work and home, while inside my heart is so broken that I wonder how it will ever heal.

Yet, I've reached a point where I want it to heal. I don't want this grief to swallow me and control the rest of my life. I want to live without this big black cloud hanging over me. I want the sun to come back and stay for longer. I pray that one day it will.

Not only should we be unashamed of grief, confident

that its expression will not permanently hurt us, but

we should also possess the wisdom to talk about our

loss and through that creative conversation with

friends and companions begin to reconstruct the broken

fragments of our lives . . . We should not resist the

sympathy and stimulation of social interaction. We

should learn not to grow impatient with the slow

healing process of time . . . We should anticipate

these stages in our emotional convalescence: unbearable

pain, poignant grief, empty days, resistance to

consolation, disinterestedness in life, gradually

giving way under the healing sunlight of love,

friendship, social challange, to the new weaving of a

pattern of action and the acceptance of the irrestible

challenge of life.

-- Rabbi Joshua L. Liebman

~~~~~

Hope is a higher heart frequency, and as you begin to

re-connect with your heart, hope is waiting to show you

new possibilities and arrest the downward spiral of

grief and loneliness. Listening to the still small

voice in your heart will make hope into a reality.

-- Sara Paddison

May we all find hope within our grief, and sunshine peaking through our dark clouds.

A Blizzard on the Canadian Prairies

2010-01-27T14:21:00.001-06:00

I predict that this past weekend will be known in our area as the Blizzard of 2010. We get the odd blizzard in the prairies, and I've only lived here since 2002, but I've never experienced a blizzard that lasted 48 hours before. We spent the whole weekend grateful that we didn't have to go anywhere, and watching the snow and wind change the landscape with amazing force and beauty. It really was awesome to watch, within the warmth and safety of our home.

We even got to experience two power outages, which had us all excited and prepared for the long haul, only to disappoint us when it came back on within an hour. The second power outage was even more eventful because we also lost our water, due to a problem with the town water pump. My youngest discovered the problem when he went to flush the toilet, by candlelight, and was horrified that nothing happened. I assured both boys that I was sure the town had a back up generator and they'd get the water working again as soon as possible. And even though we had a lot to drink in our house, it's amazing how thirsty you get when suddenly no water comes out of your tap! The Girl Guide in me rose to the surface (or is it my inner Brownie? - Always Be Prepared!) and I started regretting that I never accumulated an emergency water stash like is recommended so I added it and a camping stove to my shopping list so we could boil water or warm soup in a real emergency. When the water came back on, my inner Girl Guide was still with us and I told the boys we should fill a tub with water in case there was another problem with the town water pump. That way we'd still have water for ourselves and our pets, and for flushing toilets. So we took our lantern and flashlights to the basement bathroom (leaving the upstairs tub empty so we could still shower 'cause if there's water, I must shower!) and found the water pressure to be extremely low, which meant it would take a while to fill. We grabbed the latest book we're reading together, and grabbed spare pillows and blankets and all cuddled in on the floor of the bathroom to make sure the tub didn't overflow while we were reading by lantern light. We were all extremely disappointed a few minutes later when the lights came back on!

It was a sweet time, our blizzard weekend, showing my boys that we could survive a little mini crisis and have fun at the same time. And they were really mature helpers, real young men, not panicking when the lights went out and they were in the basement in total darkness. They lit candles, found flashlight batteries, and dug out the old phone which would work without electricity ("You mean not all phones need electricity? Wow, that phone must be really old!"). And not once during this eventful weekend did I feel sorry for myself that Austin wasn't here. It would have been nice to have him home to help shovel, instead of relying on my wonderful neighbour to spend over 2 hours snow blowing our driveway. But the time I spent shoveling the deck and around the yard was time I actually enjoyed. It was good exercise out in the fresh air. I didn't feel sorry for myself once. It would have been fun to have him be part of the adventure with the boys and I, but we still had an adventure without him. It would have been wonderful to have been laying next to him, wrapped in his arms, as the wind kept me awake much of Saturday night and I just layed there listening to it howl, with my two little men in their sleeping bags on either side of my bed, in case the power went out again (their idea, not mine, and it warmed my heart because inside of their growing up exterior are still boys who just might still need their Mom). I listened to the wind and my sleeping boys without being overwhelmed that he wasn't there.

I feel like I'm emerging out into the sunshine again, away from the overwhelming grief. I'm sticking my head out, to see what it's like, and so far I'm enjoying it. A few months ago I would have felt guilty writing these words, because I equated how much I missed him with how much I love him, and how much he loved me. But I'm able to realize now that just because I'm smiling and enjoying this moment doesn't mean our love was any less, or that he is less important to me or that we're better off without him. We're not better off, our love was tender and powerful and he will always be the greatest love of my life. But he died. And the boys and I are moving forward, in joy and laughter and in loving remembrance of Austin. He would want us to. He would kick my butt if we didn't. So forward we go, at least for this week.

Grief and Immune Systems

2010-01-23T09:42:00.004-06:00

This week I had the stomach flu. It hit me hard and fast and it was not fun, as you all know since everyone's had the stomach flu. While I was laying on the couch, feeling sorry for myself, I got thinking about all the times I've been sick since Austin died. I'm usually a very healthy person, getting maybe one cold a year. And it's suddenly dawned on me that I've been sick a lot over the past 10 months.

I've had H1N1, the stomach flu, many colds, many migranes/cluster headaches, an almost permanent sore neck which started the day after Austin died, sciatica, an ear infection and countless aches and pains since March 20th, 2009. I've never had so many little illnesses during one year in my life! My previously hardy immune system is failing me. I rarely got sick before Austin died and I'm starting to worry that if all this obvious stuff is going on in my body, what secretive, foreboding and more dangerous cellular things could be going on without me even knowing? So over the past couple of days I've been thinking about what I can do to to strengthen my immune system, besides taking the viatamins and minerals that I already take? So I've started to do a little research. I've had enough of all these issues and I want to go back to being healthy again. My kids need a healthy Mom and I need to feel better!

There is a plethora of information on the internet about grief and the immune system. Many of the sites I've looked at basically say, yes, grief can compromise our immune systems. Duh! I've found some suggestions for building our immune system, which really aren't anything new but they are good reminders. At http://connect.legacy.com/inspire/page/show?id=1984035%3APage%3A2521 they suggest the following :

■Taking sufficient time off from work

■Eating as well as you can

■Drinking water

■Loafing and Resting

■Moving our bodies—a walk, bike ride, swimming

■Getting massages

■Listening to music

■Simplifying our schedules

■Cutting out activities that take up time and energy we don’t now have

■Praying and meditating

■Talking to a professional

The suggestions above are good, but some are unrealistic in the life of a working Mom. Simplify my schedule? We're already down to the bare bones. Cut out activities? Again, already down to bare bones. Listen to music? I cannot listen to music for more than 5-10 minutes without feeling overwhelmed. Music was so important in our family before Austin died and it's still too painful. I've even tried just listening to new music that he never heard, and somehow all music still comes back to him. The boys and I are really concentrating on eating well and exercising, so hopefully that will help. And I suppose there are others on the list that I could engage in more regularly. I'm going to make a list and post it on the fridge and my bedroom mirror to remind me to look after myself.

But I wanted more ideas which I could actually use so I kept researching. And I found an interesting article on how to heal grief in our bodies at http://www.healgrief.com/Site/Heal_Grief_in_Your_Body.html . This is an article written by a woman who is a grief counsellor and who has been there and walked our walk |(about Rondi Lightmark: http://www.healgrief.com/Site/About_Rondi_Lightmark,_M.A..html ). Her suggestions take a eastern medicine bend, which I'm not really educated in, but as I read, I found myself extremely interested in trying her ideas. So I'm going to print the article and try a few. I'll start small and hopefully will build my strength and immune system.

Have any of you noticed your immune system isn't functioning as well as before your loved one died? Have you found any suggestions to help yourself that you'd like to share?

I hope today you are all well. There is a beautiful snow storm blowing outside (beautiful because I don't have to go anywhere today and it really is lovely to watch from the comfort of my home) and I'm going to make myself a cup of tea and start working on building my immune system immediately, since I woke up this morning with snifflesand I feel a cold coming on. Maybe I can get rid of it before it gets settled it. Here's to building our immune systems!

Namaste.

Hawaii Pictures

2010-01-19T20:05:00.003-06:00

on our way to the airport

Besides some pictures, I'm at a loss for any interesting thing to share with you. I feel like I'm in a bit of a lull time, with nothing big and eventful happening in my life. I made it through my birthday in one piece, and I did have my sobbing time late at night, reading Austin's loving cards (and one poem!) which he'd given to me over the years. I read through them all while enjoying a wee glass of his favorite scotch. I must have been quite a sight!

My water damaged floor has finally been replaced and while a few tasks remain yet to do, the floor looks great and we're all happy with it. In a few weeks we'll worry about finishing the baseboards and replacing the non-functioning closet with Austin's inspiring plan (which he had sketched one night as we talked about our options a few weeks before he died). Our old dog is holding her own for now but I know I'll have to make the tough choice soon. We're just trying her on some new meds and food to buy us some time before having to deal with her leaving us. I've been busy making plans to move our little sailboat out to the coast this summer. It's a big project to do without Austin but I am determined that it is the right choice for the boys and I so it will happen. My brother-in-law (Austin's brother) has "signed on" to help me with the project, for which I am so grateful! He knows a lot about sailboats and engines and his help is and will be invaluable. The first semester at school is almost over and it is getting close to exam time, which means that in the next couple of weeks my life gets busier than usual. Yeah! My youngest son is sick with a cold/throat infection that isn't any fun and has kept him home fro school for two days. How I miss Austin's loving and caring presence, especially when our kids are sick.

I wish I had appreciated how sacred our life and family was, when we were whole. I'm trying really hard to not take things for granted these days. I'm not always successful, which sometimes takes me by surprise because after losing my husband, I would think that I would always remember how precious our lives and relationships are. But life has a way of just moving full speed ahead and taking us along with it without giving us a lot of chances to just breathe and appreciate all that we have been given. I'm really trying to take that time these days.

So I'm moving down the road of life on cruise control and enjoying the fact that I'm not deep in the trough of grief this week, today, tonight. I know the waves will come but for now I'm content on the still, flat water. And speaking of water, here are a few pictures from Hawaii. I hope you all have a peaceful week.

fun in the pool

enjoying the surf

getting ready for surfing lessons

that's my baby parasailing at 1000 feet

putting on a happy face

Unexpected

2010-01-13T12:30:00.001-06:00

About a month after Austin died, I knew I would not be able to get through a traditional Christmas and I started planning our trip to Hawaii. I knew that being in a totally different place for Christmas and New Year's Eve (our 14th anniversary) would not mean I would forget that Austin wasn't with us (that would be an impossibility), but it would mean distractions and no routine, so the pain wouldn't be so acute. It worked. We survived the holidays fairly unscathed and we made a few new wonderful memories.

My birthday falls fairly quickly after the holidays. In fact it is today. When people mentioned how hard my birthday would be, I thought they were crazy. I thought it would be no big deal. Birthdays are fairly casual in our family, I don't like to remember that I'm getting older anyway and I never like to make a big deal over myself. The boys and I would have a quick, quiet celebration and it would be like any other day. I wouldn't miss Austin any more than usual on my birthday, or so I thought.

My parents wanted to come for my birthday, which I thought was nice but totally unneccessary. And then I found out that my new floor, which was being replaced due to water damage in the summer (insurance claims apparently take a while to work through!), was going to be installed this week. Day one would be on my birthday, which wasn't a big deal, but I knew it was going to be a lot of work to get ready for the new floors. China and my angel collection would need to be packed up, heavy furniture moved, baseboards removed etc. etc. I knew this would stress me out and so I asked my parents to come and help. I am so lucky that they are able and willing to help us and they jumped at the chance to be here for my birthday and to once again help us out. So my Mom planned a BBQ birthday dinner (since we'll be in a construction zone in the kitchen tonight), she helped organize the boys getting me a birthday present, made a cake and she and my Dad helped the boys and I dismantle half our upstairs in preparation for the new floor. Actually, the boys and I helped my parents dismantle the house as they did most of the work. And all was well last night. I knew my birthday would come and go, in the chaos of rennovations (did I mention the back door closet is also ripped out and being replaced?), and all would be well. There would be no extra widow grief on January 13th. I could feel it and I was a little excited about the fact that I was feeling so good about it. It would be my first real victory since Austin died. I went to sleep easily last night. Well, it was late and I was tired, but I fell asleep with no major effort or serious issues on my mind. And then the alarm went off.

In my sleepy, hazy waking up zone, I remembered it was my birthday and I thought for a moment how nice it would be to feel Austin snuggled up behind me with his arms around me, saying "Happy Birthday Love", like he'd said for the past 14 years. His was always the first voice I heard, but not today. Usually on birthdays, the kids would come bounding into bed with us and all four of us would snuggle in and the birthday girl/boy would open their presents in bed. Not today. It was too hard to stay in bed without him, so we went out to the living room. Plus my parents were there so I didn't want to hide away from them. After opening presents and cards it hit me that I won't be getting a loving card from him this year, like every other year. So I choked back tears and stupidly went and dug out all the old cards that Austin had given me over the years. I read four or five through my flowing tears and realized that if I didn't get moving, I was going to be late for work. So I had a shower and took the opportunity of water noise to just bawl. It was a loud, ugly bawl like I haven't released for quite a while. But again I need to get moving so I wouldn't be late for work so I put some eye drops in and joined my family for breakfast.

I've promised myself that late tonight, when everyone else is in bed, I'm going to light some candles, dig out all my old cards from Austin, crawl into bed with a glass of wine (or maybe Austin's favorite scotch) and allow myself to relive and remember all the love and wonderful memories that we made together. I'm going to let my grief roll out in my tears and wrap myself in his love for me. For even though his body is no longer here, his love is. I feel it every day. And I thought that I'd sail through this birthday because birthdays were no big deal. But for some reason, his absence is stronger today. His loving gestures and top secret wrapping parties with the boys are missed more than I'd realized they would be. I guess birthdays at our house weren't as low key as I had remembered.

I've learned that grief is unpredicatable and unstoppable. This doesn't fit my organized personality that well, but I know it's making Austin, Mr. Spontaneity, raise his right eyebrow like he used to do to make us laugh or to say "see, I was right". Everyday without him his hard because every day he was a loving, kind, caring, supportive and protective husband and Dad. But these special occassions without him really knock me to my knees. Next time, I'll be ready. I won't be caught off guard again. Does anyone have any ideas about how to brace ourselves for our loved ones' birthdays or the anniversary of their deaths? They're next for me, March 4th and March 20th. And then I will have survived the first year...