really. I don't. I am strong enough. Well, maybe a little upper body strength wouldn't be bad. Help with those old lady flabby triceps that are starting. Might help with all the lifting at work.....but I digress. I am talking about emotional strength here. And quite frankly, I think I am perfectly fine how I am. And I don't want to get any stronger.
I was listening to the Christian music station that plays pretty much constantly in my car (except for when my daughter is in with me and then it's Broadway) and Mandisa's song Stronger started playing. I have heard it a million times probably but this time the lyrics really hit me:
When the waves are taking you under
Hold on just a little bit longer
He knows that this is gonna make you stronger, stronger
The pain ain't gonna last forever
And things can only get better
Believe me
This is gonna make you stronger
Gonna make you stronger, stronger, stronger
Believe me, this is gonna make you ...
I am really tired of those waves taking me under. And not just those waves of grief. I am just tired of all the little things, all the big things. I am tired of friends and acquaintances telling me how strong I am, or saying God can't give you more than you can handle, or it is going to make you stronger. I am strong enough. I want the "tests" to end. I know God is there with me. I know God will help me through this. I know he has put amazing people in my path since Dave died who have been there for me and held me up and pulled me through. But right now I need a break. I don't want to be stronger. I just want to be. Is that asking too much?
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
feeling very.......
out of sorts is really the only thing I can think of. Not good, not bad. Not happy, not sad. No where near as "content" as a week or so ago. But not drowning or swimming up stream like when a really bad wave hits. Just sort of not good, but not totally bad.
And I guess in the broad spectrum of the last 5 years that is a good thing. Things can happen now, that bring me down a bit, but I don't get swept under and struggle to even catch my breath. At least not always. I am not naive enough to think that the big waves won't still come crashing at times. But, I'm taking this as a positive. Oh yes I would love to feel as good as I did 2 weeks ago, but I am happy to be plodding along, floundering a bit but not being pulled under.
And I guess in the broad spectrum of the last 5 years that is a good thing. Things can happen now, that bring me down a bit, but I don't get swept under and struggle to even catch my breath. At least not always. I am not naive enough to think that the big waves won't still come crashing at times. But, I'm taking this as a positive. Oh yes I would love to feel as good as I did 2 weeks ago, but I am happy to be plodding along, floundering a bit but not being pulled under.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Content - adjective: a state of peacful happiness
Content - adjective: a state of peaceful happiness.
The last few weeks have been, like for many widows, a difficult time. While memories swirl around us always, and the most unexpected thing can turn a perfectly "normal" day into a whirlwind of emotion and pain, those moments seem to come up more frequently with the holidays. Any little seemingly inconsequential thing can turn into a trigger.
For me the anticipation of days has always turned out to be the actual day itself. With one exception. I remember all of the "firsts", Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays etc. Weeks before I would begin to become agitated at the slightest things and worried endlessly what was going to happen and how we would all feel. Then the actual days would come and they really weren't great, but also no where near as bad as I had anticipated. Gradually over the past 5 years I have learned to try not to anticipate them too much, to just kind of go along and realize that like it or not the days were going to come. And most likely I would survive, and wake up the next morning having gotten through one more of "those days".
My one exception? New Years Eve/ New Years Day. For me that continues to be THE most difficult day. You see, Dave proposed to me just after midnight that first year we were dating. He asked me to "spend all of our New Years Eve's together for the rest of our lives". Little did I know that would be just 15 more New Years Eves. I have dreaded each and everyone since he died; and each and everyone has been just as miserable as I anticipated.
This year both my kids were invited out, both to sleep overs. I was invited to both houses but declined. I knew that even 5 New Years Eves later it is just too much. I worked all day New Years Even Day. A saw 6 patients, each of whom asked me my plans. And each time it was all I could do to hold back the tears and say I was "just staying in", all the while thinking about how Dave had proposed to me and what a special evening it SHOULD have been.
But in I stayed. I went to bed early and slept in late the next morning. And it was over. Two days later was my birthday and my kids did a wonderful job of wishing me a happy birthday as soon as they woke up, took me out to dinner and really made me happy and proud to be their mom. Then came this weekend which we had pretty jam packed with activity. Friday night we ran errands and had dinner out. Yesterday we spent a wonderful day in NY City visiting a widow friend I have made through Camp Widow and 3 of her children. We got in after midnight last night/this morning, exhausted but after a very fun filled day. I knew I had to get to bed quickly as I had tickets today to take my daughter to see "Les Miserable" in Phila.
And that is when it hit me. Despite the difficulty of the holidays, despite my dislike of New Years Eve, I had had several really nice days, a wonderful visit with a dear friend and as I climbed into bed I realized I was happy. But more than that I was content. I have had many happy days over the last 4 1/2 years. Increasingly more as time has gone on. But this is the first time that I felt not just happy for a moment, but actually content. As the definition I found says, In a state of PEACEFUL HAPPINESS.
And you know what? It feels GOOD!!! Now I don't want to be negative and say that it won't last. But I have been on this roller coaster long enough to know that things can and will change whether we like them to or not. BUT I also know that for the first time in 4 1/2 years I have felt content. And that if I have felt it once, I can feel it again. I don't know how long this is going to last. But I sure as heck am going to enjoy it while it does. I it gives me hope that this feeling still exists, and even if it disappears for awhile it might just come back again. And that I know is what it is all about.Having hope. And, sometimes, that hope comes in a state of peaceful happiness!!!!
The last few weeks have been, like for many widows, a difficult time. While memories swirl around us always, and the most unexpected thing can turn a perfectly "normal" day into a whirlwind of emotion and pain, those moments seem to come up more frequently with the holidays. Any little seemingly inconsequential thing can turn into a trigger.
For me the anticipation of days has always turned out to be the actual day itself. With one exception. I remember all of the "firsts", Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays etc. Weeks before I would begin to become agitated at the slightest things and worried endlessly what was going to happen and how we would all feel. Then the actual days would come and they really weren't great, but also no where near as bad as I had anticipated. Gradually over the past 5 years I have learned to try not to anticipate them too much, to just kind of go along and realize that like it or not the days were going to come. And most likely I would survive, and wake up the next morning having gotten through one more of "those days".
My one exception? New Years Eve/ New Years Day. For me that continues to be THE most difficult day. You see, Dave proposed to me just after midnight that first year we were dating. He asked me to "spend all of our New Years Eve's together for the rest of our lives". Little did I know that would be just 15 more New Years Eves. I have dreaded each and everyone since he died; and each and everyone has been just as miserable as I anticipated.
This year both my kids were invited out, both to sleep overs. I was invited to both houses but declined. I knew that even 5 New Years Eves later it is just too much. I worked all day New Years Even Day. A saw 6 patients, each of whom asked me my plans. And each time it was all I could do to hold back the tears and say I was "just staying in", all the while thinking about how Dave had proposed to me and what a special evening it SHOULD have been.
But in I stayed. I went to bed early and slept in late the next morning. And it was over. Two days later was my birthday and my kids did a wonderful job of wishing me a happy birthday as soon as they woke up, took me out to dinner and really made me happy and proud to be their mom. Then came this weekend which we had pretty jam packed with activity. Friday night we ran errands and had dinner out. Yesterday we spent a wonderful day in NY City visiting a widow friend I have made through Camp Widow and 3 of her children. We got in after midnight last night/this morning, exhausted but after a very fun filled day. I knew I had to get to bed quickly as I had tickets today to take my daughter to see "Les Miserable" in Phila.
And that is when it hit me. Despite the difficulty of the holidays, despite my dislike of New Years Eve, I had had several really nice days, a wonderful visit with a dear friend and as I climbed into bed I realized I was happy. But more than that I was content. I have had many happy days over the last 4 1/2 years. Increasingly more as time has gone on. But this is the first time that I felt not just happy for a moment, but actually content. As the definition I found says, In a state of PEACEFUL HAPPINESS.
And you know what? It feels GOOD!!! Now I don't want to be negative and say that it won't last. But I have been on this roller coaster long enough to know that things can and will change whether we like them to or not. BUT I also know that for the first time in 4 1/2 years I have felt content. And that if I have felt it once, I can feel it again. I don't know how long this is going to last. But I sure as heck am going to enjoy it while it does. I it gives me hope that this feeling still exists, and even if it disappears for awhile it might just come back again. And that I know is what it is all about.Having hope. And, sometimes, that hope comes in a state of peaceful happiness!!!!
Sunday, December 23, 2012
and the tears....
are starting to flow. I have been really pleased, and really proud of myself this holiday season. For the first time since Dave died 4 years ago we did what WE (the kids and I ) wanted to do for Thanksgiving. We stayed home. It was just the 3 of us and it was quiet, peaceful and very nice. I have Christmas planned this year too - do to what the kids want. To stay home. We will have my parents, sister and nephew over but won't have to leave the house until our annual night time trip to friends (which they like) We will go to my folks the day after when my brother comes with his family, but on Christmas itself we will stay home. Something we have never done. We also invited a church family for Christmas eve. they are a Coast Guard family, and for the first time ever the father is out to sea for Christmas. They have only been here a bit over a year and have no close family. So the mom and 3 kids will join us after the early and before midnight service. It is different, but feels right.
So I thought I was doing good this year. changing things up a bit seemed to have helped my mood. That and a recent switch of antidepressents. Back to an even keel. Or so I thought. Until today. Until church. The flood gates have opened and they aren't showing any signs of stopping soon. I knew that they were bound to happen sooner or later. I am actually dealing with it okay. Just going with the tears, not fighting it or trying to hold it back. That has been my game plan lately and it seems to be working. Letting it out when I need to, not trying to hold back. And most importantly not over thinking. And when the tears to go, I am okay - not floundering in that deep depression, not getting sucked into that black hole of grief.
So the flood gates are open. But I think I'm okay with it this time. I knew they would come. But I think I will still be standing when the tears are gone. I think I can get through this without getting sucked down. and that is a good feeling. and I think might even count as progress - moving forward, at my own pace (snails crawl or so it seems) but moving forward none the less. I think Dave would be happy, I think he would want me to be able to move forward. I think he knows that I still miss him with every fiber of my being, and love him more today than the day he left us. I think he would be proud of me. And that feels good.
So I thought I was doing good this year. changing things up a bit seemed to have helped my mood. That and a recent switch of antidepressents. Back to an even keel. Or so I thought. Until today. Until church. The flood gates have opened and they aren't showing any signs of stopping soon. I knew that they were bound to happen sooner or later. I am actually dealing with it okay. Just going with the tears, not fighting it or trying to hold it back. That has been my game plan lately and it seems to be working. Letting it out when I need to, not trying to hold back. And most importantly not over thinking. And when the tears to go, I am okay - not floundering in that deep depression, not getting sucked into that black hole of grief.
So the flood gates are open. But I think I'm okay with it this time. I knew they would come. But I think I will still be standing when the tears are gone. I think I can get through this without getting sucked down. and that is a good feeling. and I think might even count as progress - moving forward, at my own pace (snails crawl or so it seems) but moving forward none the less. I think Dave would be happy, I think he would want me to be able to move forward. I think he knows that I still miss him with every fiber of my being, and love him more today than the day he left us. I think he would be proud of me. And that feels good.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
His Legacy - Part 2
Just over 5 months ago we experienced a horrendous storm here on the east coast. Something called a "derecho". Somthing I have never heard of it. It was terrifying at the start. Lightening which seemed like a strobe light, but no thunder. Winds like I have never seen. Apparently the definition of a derecho is that the winds although higher than a tornado are straight winds, they just go in a straight line shearing all in it's way. They are very sudden and unpredictable. After huddling with my daughter for several minutes listening to the wind and watching the lightening (It was after midnight, we had both been sleeping but woke up - my son slept through the whole thing) we heard several crashes, followed a very significant shaking of our home. We got out of my bed to investigate and while standing in the living room to try to figure out what was going on a large oak tree crashed through our roof and right through the ceiling leaving a 6 foot limb hanging less than a foot from where we were standing. We woke my son, were evacuated by the police (were not sure the roof wouldn't collapse). When we returned the following morning we found our cars covered by 2 of the neighbors trees. Two trees through our second floor roof (we think the inital shaking we felt), our chimney down, our basketball court in ruins, our fences ruined and of course the big tree through the front of the house.
We had about a week to remove all of our belongs that could be saved and store them in a POD left sitting for months in our driveway. Thanks to many incredible friends we got the job done swiftly and smoothly. Much was ruined and we filled 4 dumpsters.
Fast forward to this week. We moved home. Our renovated home is beautiful. But now I have the task of unloading all the boxes and finding places for all the contents. A daunting task in itself. Five months after the storm and 4 1/2 years after Dave died I am finding things of his I have previously not had the ability to look at. In one box I found his application for "Teacher of the Year" which he was awarded just a month before his death. The majority of the papers were the forms filled out by his principal, other teachers etc. But there is also a form he filled out. As Teacher of the Year for his school he had to apply as County teacher of the year (which he did not receive). Part of the application was "Community Involvement". He describes his work in the community, coaching, volunteering and his work at church.
The last paragraph hit me like a huge wave. I bawled like a baby for a good 30 minutes.
"I am fortunate that my wife is very committed to community causes. she has helped instill this awareness and involvement in our children, who are routinely involved in fundraising activities. My one daughter has served as a volunteer at Field of Dreams, a baseball program for children with disabilities. My son has raised over $3000 for childhood cancer through the St. Baldrick's program. I am very proud of them and hope we have created a legacy of giving back to the community.
The bolded words are what hit me. And what caused me to be hit with a wave of I am not sure what. Even before his death Dave was hoping our family would be giving back. Not knowing any of this our friends came forward and developed "Dave's Day" ,where we give to our school and church. Not knowing this our friends and community have supported us for the past 4 years and are now planning year 5. It affirmed for me that we have chosen exactly what Dave wanted. A humble man he would not necessarily by happy that the day is named FOR him. But I know now deep in my heart that we are doing JUST what he wanted and although it was not a spoken wish, or not spoken between us, just written on this "form" he had to fill out, I feel that we are indeed fulfilling his "last wish" so to speak.
We had about a week to remove all of our belongs that could be saved and store them in a POD left sitting for months in our driveway. Thanks to many incredible friends we got the job done swiftly and smoothly. Much was ruined and we filled 4 dumpsters.
Fast forward to this week. We moved home. Our renovated home is beautiful. But now I have the task of unloading all the boxes and finding places for all the contents. A daunting task in itself. Five months after the storm and 4 1/2 years after Dave died I am finding things of his I have previously not had the ability to look at. In one box I found his application for "Teacher of the Year" which he was awarded just a month before his death. The majority of the papers were the forms filled out by his principal, other teachers etc. But there is also a form he filled out. As Teacher of the Year for his school he had to apply as County teacher of the year (which he did not receive). Part of the application was "Community Involvement". He describes his work in the community, coaching, volunteering and his work at church.
The last paragraph hit me like a huge wave. I bawled like a baby for a good 30 minutes.
"I am fortunate that my wife is very committed to community causes. she has helped instill this awareness and involvement in our children, who are routinely involved in fundraising activities. My one daughter has served as a volunteer at Field of Dreams, a baseball program for children with disabilities. My son has raised over $3000 for childhood cancer through the St. Baldrick's program. I am very proud of them and hope we have created a legacy of giving back to the community.
The bolded words are what hit me. And what caused me to be hit with a wave of I am not sure what. Even before his death Dave was hoping our family would be giving back. Not knowing any of this our friends came forward and developed "Dave's Day" ,where we give to our school and church. Not knowing this our friends and community have supported us for the past 4 years and are now planning year 5. It affirmed for me that we have chosen exactly what Dave wanted. A humble man he would not necessarily by happy that the day is named FOR him. But I know now deep in my heart that we are doing JUST what he wanted and although it was not a spoken wish, or not spoken between us, just written on this "form" he had to fill out, I feel that we are indeed fulfilling his "last wish" so to speak.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
the last day of "normal"
18 years, November 8th 1994, ago I was in the hospital, in labor for the 2nd straight day, awaiting the arrival of my first biological child (I already had 2 stepdaughters). We had no idea if "it" was a boy or a girl. And had to wait 3 hours into the next day before we would find out. I often over the past 18 years have revisited the three days I was in labor. Remembering each step, how I felt, what we did (mostly stayed in bed with the darn monitor attached) and how we felt thinking we had our whole lives in front of us with this new life!
6 years ago,11/8/06, little did I know that I would be spending my last "normal" day. The last day that everything in my life was "normal" and perfect or at least close to it. By then we had not only child 1 that we were anxiously awaiting 12 years early, but child 2, a pleasant surprise who arrived 3 years and 3 months after his sister. But on that day in 2006 I had no idea that our world would be shattered. It was just "another day".
There are so many days I can remember just what happened. The day in 1994 when I was in labor. I remember in detail when they started the pitocin, when my water broke, when I got my epidural, when we went into distress, and out if it, repeatedly, when they thought they had to do an emergency C section (they didn't), Dave calling my parents, his mom, all who were waiting. And of course I can remember the next day. When Emily finally decided to make her appearance. The strain of 3 long hours of pushing (starting right at midnight), her slightly frightening arrival ( she was breathing but not crying and her cord was wrapped x3 , and at 42 weeks and almost 9 lbs she needed a little extra TLC before we could see her). I remember the day I was in labor with and gave birth to her brother (blessedly he came in 12 hours, vs the 50 plus we waited for her). I remember my younger step daughters wedding. What we did, wore, ate, danced etc etc.
I remember all the "bad" days associated with Dave's illness. The day we found out (Emily's 12 th birthday), the first day of testing and his bone marrow biopsy, sans anesthesia in the office. His stem cell. His relapse. The day he almost died. And of course every day of the last 5 of his life. Down to every conversation with every family member and every doctor. Ending with my conversation when I had to tell Emily and David that their Dad had died.
But I don't remember the last day of "normal". Oh sure I remember him. And I remember his life. And lots of events. Lots of habits, idiosyncrasies. The way he did things. How he said different words. What we did for fun as a family. How he coached his team. I remember countless games. Trips to see his mom and aunt, dinners at my folks. But not whole days that were just "regular". Sometimes it bothers me that I don't remember that "last day". I want to go back and feel what it was like to just live. To not worry (tho knowing me I was worried about something), to not be constantly afraid, constantly looking ahead. But i don't remember a whole day like that. Was I just taking my life for granted? Not grateful enough for what I had? I don't know. But I do know that I desperately wish I could remember.
Instead I remember the next day. 18 years ago it was the day my daughter finally arrived. 6 years it ago it was the day we "found out". We had just returned home from a birthday day with my parents. I found pictures of that day not too long ago. Typical. Emily. Emily and David. Emily and my parents. None of me. None of Dave. How sad. It would have been the last picture of him healthy. Only he wasn't. He was dying and we didn't know. Sometimes I wonder if I had pictures would I look back and see what I might have missed. And I am sure I would. I would kick myself for "missing" something. So maybe it is for the best. We had gotten home around 8:30. The phone rang. Emily answered the phone. A very grown up Emily. I remember her saying, yes, who is calling please:.. She handed the phone to Dave and said Daddy, it's your doctor. It can't be good. Doctors don't call you at night when everything is okay.
We hadn't even suspected anything. Nose bleeds, high blood pressure. the blood tests had mainly been for cholesterol. All the "usual" stuff when you have high blood pressure. The doctor saying, I know why you are bleeding and tired. YOur platelets and red cells are very low. You need to see the oncologist. but we have talked and we are sure you have mulitple myeloma. Call in the morning to make an appt with the oncologist.
So I remember. But I don't remember "normal". I wish I could go back and live one day in "normal", one day where I truly appreciate EVERYTHING and remember every moment of what it is, just to "live".
6 years ago,11/8/06, little did I know that I would be spending my last "normal" day. The last day that everything in my life was "normal" and perfect or at least close to it. By then we had not only child 1 that we were anxiously awaiting 12 years early, but child 2, a pleasant surprise who arrived 3 years and 3 months after his sister. But on that day in 2006 I had no idea that our world would be shattered. It was just "another day".
There are so many days I can remember just what happened. The day in 1994 when I was in labor. I remember in detail when they started the pitocin, when my water broke, when I got my epidural, when we went into distress, and out if it, repeatedly, when they thought they had to do an emergency C section (they didn't), Dave calling my parents, his mom, all who were waiting. And of course I can remember the next day. When Emily finally decided to make her appearance. The strain of 3 long hours of pushing (starting right at midnight), her slightly frightening arrival ( she was breathing but not crying and her cord was wrapped x3 , and at 42 weeks and almost 9 lbs she needed a little extra TLC before we could see her). I remember the day I was in labor with and gave birth to her brother (blessedly he came in 12 hours, vs the 50 plus we waited for her). I remember my younger step daughters wedding. What we did, wore, ate, danced etc etc.
I remember all the "bad" days associated with Dave's illness. The day we found out (Emily's 12 th birthday), the first day of testing and his bone marrow biopsy, sans anesthesia in the office. His stem cell. His relapse. The day he almost died. And of course every day of the last 5 of his life. Down to every conversation with every family member and every doctor. Ending with my conversation when I had to tell Emily and David that their Dad had died.
But I don't remember the last day of "normal". Oh sure I remember him. And I remember his life. And lots of events. Lots of habits, idiosyncrasies. The way he did things. How he said different words. What we did for fun as a family. How he coached his team. I remember countless games. Trips to see his mom and aunt, dinners at my folks. But not whole days that were just "regular". Sometimes it bothers me that I don't remember that "last day". I want to go back and feel what it was like to just live. To not worry (tho knowing me I was worried about something), to not be constantly afraid, constantly looking ahead. But i don't remember a whole day like that. Was I just taking my life for granted? Not grateful enough for what I had? I don't know. But I do know that I desperately wish I could remember.
Instead I remember the next day. 18 years ago it was the day my daughter finally arrived. 6 years it ago it was the day we "found out". We had just returned home from a birthday day with my parents. I found pictures of that day not too long ago. Typical. Emily. Emily and David. Emily and my parents. None of me. None of Dave. How sad. It would have been the last picture of him healthy. Only he wasn't. He was dying and we didn't know. Sometimes I wonder if I had pictures would I look back and see what I might have missed. And I am sure I would. I would kick myself for "missing" something. So maybe it is for the best. We had gotten home around 8:30. The phone rang. Emily answered the phone. A very grown up Emily. I remember her saying, yes, who is calling please:.. She handed the phone to Dave and said Daddy, it's your doctor. It can't be good. Doctors don't call you at night when everything is okay.
We hadn't even suspected anything. Nose bleeds, high blood pressure. the blood tests had mainly been for cholesterol. All the "usual" stuff when you have high blood pressure. The doctor saying, I know why you are bleeding and tired. YOur platelets and red cells are very low. You need to see the oncologist. but we have talked and we are sure you have mulitple myeloma. Call in the morning to make an appt with the oncologist.
So I remember. But I don't remember "normal". I wish I could go back and live one day in "normal", one day where I truly appreciate EVERYTHING and remember every moment of what it is, just to "live".
Saturday, May 26, 2012
some times the tears just flow.......
1440 days. 3 years, 11 months and 9 days. You would think that it should be getting "easier". And yes in some respects it is. A lot easier. I don't cry every day. I do get out of bed every day. I even shower every day. I still don't always cook - although my kids are well fed and the local waitresses know us by name. Laundry still piles up (right now I have the excuse of no dryer) and my house isn't as clean as it should be. But, my kids are happy; I am working 2 jobs (equivalent of full time), bills are paid, mostly on time and I earn enough for vacations and a few "extras". So yes, we have come a long way.
But, there are still times where the tears just flow and seems no matter what I can't stop them. Sometimes it's easy to figure out why (birthdays, etc) sometimes not. Right now I think it is the "death march" as I have heard others refer to it. That dreaded few weeks before "the day", where I constantly re live in my head the what were we doing on this day; how was he feeling, did we miss any "signs" that could have been caught. Of course on my "good" days I know it doesn't really matter. His cancer was going to come back sometime, and he was not going to beat it, no matter what he thought. It was a horribly aggressive nasty ugly mess of a cancer. He stood no chance from day one. I've spent too much time looking at the medical records. I know that now. We were lucky in some respects we had the 19 months we had. VERY lucky we had the last 5 months. He should have died in January. No questions. He lived until June. A miracle, I am sure of it. As was his doctor. He told me over and over again he never should have survived that January.
Even so i just can't help my feelings and thoughts. Compound any "normal" anniversary this year it occurs on Father's Day. A double whammy for the kids. I prayed so hard the year he died that he wouldn't die ON Father's Day. Never occurred to me that the anniversary could still be on that day some years - if only he had lived another week. Oh well something still would have come up and the day would still exist, no way around it. And this year we have DS's confirmation one week before and his 8th grade graduation 3 days before. So much for him to have to go through without his Dad. So much for me to go through alone.
Tuesday I had an appointment with my totally amazing therapist. Honestly, she is the best, don't know where I would be without having her the last 3 years (yes still in therapy I guess that is another post in itself). I really wasn't feeling all that bad going in, but sat down in her chair and just cried. Yes for the whole hour. I guess I needed to "get it out". Something I can't always do with work, the kids etc etc. Still been weepy on and off all week. And today too. Monday is Memorial Day. I know that is part of it too. honoring those who gave their all. Dave HATED it when people talked about "celebrating" Memorial Day - he was adamant our kids knew it was a day we "observed" not celebrated -it wasn't about picnics, good weather and start of summer, but remembering those who died in service.
So on Monday I will head to the Veteran's Cemetery to "visit" him - not having died IN service but from a service related illness. It's a hard day. More tears I am sure.
so yes, 1440 days later it is easier. But at times the tears still flow. What i DO know now however, is that no matter what I do they will flow. But more importantly i know they will stop. So now, I can let them flow, I can let myself "feel" and know that at some point, even if I can't pin point when, I will surface again and be able to breathe, and live, without crying -even if only for a short time.
But, there are still times where the tears just flow and seems no matter what I can't stop them. Sometimes it's easy to figure out why (birthdays, etc) sometimes not. Right now I think it is the "death march" as I have heard others refer to it. That dreaded few weeks before "the day", where I constantly re live in my head the what were we doing on this day; how was he feeling, did we miss any "signs" that could have been caught. Of course on my "good" days I know it doesn't really matter. His cancer was going to come back sometime, and he was not going to beat it, no matter what he thought. It was a horribly aggressive nasty ugly mess of a cancer. He stood no chance from day one. I've spent too much time looking at the medical records. I know that now. We were lucky in some respects we had the 19 months we had. VERY lucky we had the last 5 months. He should have died in January. No questions. He lived until June. A miracle, I am sure of it. As was his doctor. He told me over and over again he never should have survived that January.
Even so i just can't help my feelings and thoughts. Compound any "normal" anniversary this year it occurs on Father's Day. A double whammy for the kids. I prayed so hard the year he died that he wouldn't die ON Father's Day. Never occurred to me that the anniversary could still be on that day some years - if only he had lived another week. Oh well something still would have come up and the day would still exist, no way around it. And this year we have DS's confirmation one week before and his 8th grade graduation 3 days before. So much for him to have to go through without his Dad. So much for me to go through alone.
Tuesday I had an appointment with my totally amazing therapist. Honestly, she is the best, don't know where I would be without having her the last 3 years (yes still in therapy I guess that is another post in itself). I really wasn't feeling all that bad going in, but sat down in her chair and just cried. Yes for the whole hour. I guess I needed to "get it out". Something I can't always do with work, the kids etc etc. Still been weepy on and off all week. And today too. Monday is Memorial Day. I know that is part of it too. honoring those who gave their all. Dave HATED it when people talked about "celebrating" Memorial Day - he was adamant our kids knew it was a day we "observed" not celebrated -it wasn't about picnics, good weather and start of summer, but remembering those who died in service.
So on Monday I will head to the Veteran's Cemetery to "visit" him - not having died IN service but from a service related illness. It's a hard day. More tears I am sure.
so yes, 1440 days later it is easier. But at times the tears still flow. What i DO know now however, is that no matter what I do they will flow. But more importantly i know they will stop. So now, I can let them flow, I can let myself "feel" and know that at some point, even if I can't pin point when, I will surface again and be able to breathe, and live, without crying -even if only for a short time.
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