I don't really believe in "meant to be." I don't believe in "all things happen for a reason." And I certainly don't believe god includes terrible things in his plan for our lives. I wish I did - finding comfort might be a little easier. Although I'm feeling a bit abandoned, I don't blame god. That seems too easy. Blaming, throwing blanket statements of dismissal at it - these seem to only postpone the hurt. Instead, I've been trying to let myself feel as much pain as possible so I don't explode by holding it in. How else can I heal enough to function when I haven't dealt with all of the chaos inside?
It is not difficult to understand why these comforting ideas are tempting and I frequently have thoughts in the same vein before I wake up from what feels like an illogical dream. I've never been so exhausted to just be in my own head so the mental and emotional break does me some good. If I did believe, I might have some things to say.
I might say that maybe this is why we fell in love so darn fast. Why we bought a house before we bought a wedding. It could be why we had such a terrible time trying to live apart when we thought we were going to transition to a new city. Why I missed him so much when he was away for referee assignments. Maybe this is why Daphne was a wonderful surprise. Maybe this is why we didn't move to that other city - so I would have my group of friends and a stable career to lean on. Maybe this is why Daphne talked so early - so her dad could get to know her as much as possible. Maybe this is why she walked a little late - so he could hold her a little longer. Maybe this is why "our song" was actually a very sad song when the second verse was included.
If I entertained the idea that there was reason behind it all, I might think that this is why I was so unsettled the weekend before I lost him - I was crabby and hung up on (and a bit panicked about) getting the perfect family photo at a fall festival we attended. It's probably why we held hands in the car all the time. It didn't matter the length of the trip. I'm sure it's why we said I love you so much. If we said our morning goodbyes, and I came back into the house to grab some forgotten item, he would say it all over again. I love you. I'm sure it's why we actually had many conversations about how happy, how lucky, we were to have found each other.
The sunset was stunning on the day we had to say goodbye. After his funeral, my family scooped me up and brought me to stay with them for the week. Before we left town that afternoon the sky looked like something unreal. Purple and orange streaked the sky in rope-like clouds that shot out from the sun in every direction. It was the most vibrant October sky I can recall. And when I rode east, away from those clouds and my house, I felt like I was leaving him behind. Like he was physically being ripped away from me all over again. If I thought it was real, I might say those clouds were there for a reason.
Two Sundays ago my family surprised me with a birthday party at my house. A day I didn't think I could bear alone was made tolerable and even happy by their presence and thoughtful gestures. Still, they had to leave hours before I could reasonably go to bed so I felt incredibly alone before they even left. When I walked them outside on this gorgeous, unseasonably warm January day, that airbrushed sky was back. This time, the color was more pink than purple. The clouds were smoother, and instead of radiating from a specific point of light, they were smeared across the entire sky. I spun around in my driveway to see that in every direction it looked like someone had pressed a handful of color. Science tells me that this is because the temperature literally dropped 40 degrees that night and those clouds were a front moving quickly. This is true. But if I really wanted to believe it, I bet I could convince myself that it was him - everywhere and in every direction for just a few minutes until another day ended with the sun.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Time Stop
I turn 31 on Sunday. This has sparked thought about time and its passage and even though I hadn't realized it until tonight, I guess I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Friends, family, authors - they all say time will make things easier, heal the wounds. At first I thought they might be misspeaking - isn't it just that the shock will fade and the pain will become my norm? Now, I'm beginning to worry that they might be right for I have had moments of laughter and my 365 Gratitude project has helped me focus on something wonderfully distracting and positive each day. For three months and five days I have endured waves of forgetting only to remember, stifled pain and one step at a time. I ask for relief, but tonight I think maybe I could fend it off forever.
I work in a high school. I went to high school. The usual stint is four years which is longer than the length of time we were married. I lost him three years and three months to the day after I married him which is shorter than the blip of time I was a high school student. How is that for cruelty?
So since I'm over 30, high school was about half my life ago. Think about what you remember from high school. Are those memories clear? Are they only brought to mind by a rare scent or song? Are they fresh and present in your daily thoughts or are they faded and worn, sparked by a few old pictures? Mine are the latter. I see pictures of myself from high school and occasionally I don't recognize that person. I don't remember sitting at that restaurant or owning that sweatshirt. Some of the long lost friends in these photos are merely familiar faces without easily recalled names. Now there are the stories, the special nights, the events you relive in your mind over and over. That vision, those friends, those experiences are still with me, but the day-to-day of being in high school is gone. I am losing what it felt like. When I was there, I thought it was intense and forever. But now? I'm sure if I went back there the building would feel small and the smell would be unrecognizable.
Certainly, it is absurd to compare my marriage to my high school career in many ways, but in length of time? I can't stop myself. What if I can't remember my every day with Matt in 15 years? I cannot bear it. I've been so focused on worry for Daphne who won't remember her own experiences with her dad that I haven't stopped to worry about my own memories turning into old glory day stories. He is not just some old boyfriend, boiled down to the five stories your friends hear whenever his name is conjured. But like an old boyfriend, my memories created with him are finite. The pictures are already no longer current. So how do I make sure I save each experience and not just the photos? And not just the special stories. How can you file away the millions of seemingly unmemorable pieces of a life?
I want to remember how he made a goofy and dramatic face when he had the sniffles. He used one of those protein shake bottles with the metal ball inside about six hundred times a day and the sound drove me nuts. His handwriting - he always hated it. His tooth that overlapped just a little in the front and only from certain angles. All of his made up lyrics to real pop songs. That time when we had a big argument before he stormed off to work, only to come back after having driven all the way there so he could hug me and then hash it out even though he would be late. The way he put on Daphne's diaper cream far too thin and not nearly enough. The way the skin between his forefinger and his thumb was always dry and how his eyes crinkled when he open-mouth smiled at our baby's every word. How it felt to just sit on the couch near him even if we weren't talking or touching and how Daphne and I both went straight for the laundry room entrance to greet him when we heard the garage door lift. I want to remember these things, but not just in this list. Writing the list may have ruined them already - now they are trophy stories, the highlights of a life that can never actually add up to everything that he was, is, for me.
Faced with the idea that I might one day forget that he really loved to warm his feet (frigid) up with mine (warm) in bed or the way he always presented his grocery store purchases to me like they were prizes from a treasure hunt, I'd rather stop time now and keep every knife of pain. I've said recently that I feel stuck. I've also said that the farther away we get from October, the farther away he feels. Panicked, stuck, drifting, healing... None is better than the others and I find that thinking about it causes me to feel like I can barely breathe.
I work in a high school. I went to high school. The usual stint is four years which is longer than the length of time we were married. I lost him three years and three months to the day after I married him which is shorter than the blip of time I was a high school student. How is that for cruelty?
So since I'm over 30, high school was about half my life ago. Think about what you remember from high school. Are those memories clear? Are they only brought to mind by a rare scent or song? Are they fresh and present in your daily thoughts or are they faded and worn, sparked by a few old pictures? Mine are the latter. I see pictures of myself from high school and occasionally I don't recognize that person. I don't remember sitting at that restaurant or owning that sweatshirt. Some of the long lost friends in these photos are merely familiar faces without easily recalled names. Now there are the stories, the special nights, the events you relive in your mind over and over. That vision, those friends, those experiences are still with me, but the day-to-day of being in high school is gone. I am losing what it felt like. When I was there, I thought it was intense and forever. But now? I'm sure if I went back there the building would feel small and the smell would be unrecognizable.
Certainly, it is absurd to compare my marriage to my high school career in many ways, but in length of time? I can't stop myself. What if I can't remember my every day with Matt in 15 years? I cannot bear it. I've been so focused on worry for Daphne who won't remember her own experiences with her dad that I haven't stopped to worry about my own memories turning into old glory day stories. He is not just some old boyfriend, boiled down to the five stories your friends hear whenever his name is conjured. But like an old boyfriend, my memories created with him are finite. The pictures are already no longer current. So how do I make sure I save each experience and not just the photos? And not just the special stories. How can you file away the millions of seemingly unmemorable pieces of a life?
I want to remember how he made a goofy and dramatic face when he had the sniffles. He used one of those protein shake bottles with the metal ball inside about six hundred times a day and the sound drove me nuts. His handwriting - he always hated it. His tooth that overlapped just a little in the front and only from certain angles. All of his made up lyrics to real pop songs. That time when we had a big argument before he stormed off to work, only to come back after having driven all the way there so he could hug me and then hash it out even though he would be late. The way he put on Daphne's diaper cream far too thin and not nearly enough. The way the skin between his forefinger and his thumb was always dry and how his eyes crinkled when he open-mouth smiled at our baby's every word. How it felt to just sit on the couch near him even if we weren't talking or touching and how Daphne and I both went straight for the laundry room entrance to greet him when we heard the garage door lift. I want to remember these things, but not just in this list. Writing the list may have ruined them already - now they are trophy stories, the highlights of a life that can never actually add up to everything that he was, is, for me.
Faced with the idea that I might one day forget that he really loved to warm his feet (frigid) up with mine (warm) in bed or the way he always presented his grocery store purchases to me like they were prizes from a treasure hunt, I'd rather stop time now and keep every knife of pain. I've said recently that I feel stuck. I've also said that the farther away we get from October, the farther away he feels. Panicked, stuck, drifting, healing... None is better than the others and I find that thinking about it causes me to feel like I can barely breathe.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Stone
Yesterday afternoon, in the middle of my very safe work day, I got an email from the funeral home director informing me that Matt's gravestone had been placed in the garden. The garden. Gravestone.
I actually had to design it. Like the plans for a house or a commissioned piece of art, they asked me for my vision and there was a series of back and forth emails, proofs, confirmations, etc. I am 30 and I have already designed my husband's gravestone. I held his hand while he died. I watched them close the casket. I designed his gravestone. These are the things of nightmares.
I want to see it, make sure they didn't screw it up, be close to something I can look at that represents him. Now that I know it is actually there, I can't stop thinking about visiting it, but I just can't do it yet. With my close friends, I think I spill a lot of information about myself - maybe too much. With anyone outside that circle, I gather lately that I must seem a little guarded. This blog is certainly the exception. I have no idea who reads it, but sending it out into the world seems to take a little weight out of my situation. But being a private griever, as I have always known I am, doesn't really seem to match up with going to a public garden to visit. Maybe it's just too unreal that this is my life, maybe visiting his grave makes me feel like I am now just a cliche, or maybe I'm worried someone else will ruin my moment with him. Maybe I'm worried I won't feel any different than I do now, on my couch, staring at the Direct TV screen saver bouncing around the television screen. I worry that when I go there it is just going to be me, full of sorrow, in the grass, staring at a stone. What I want to feel is how I felt when he would make me feel better...about anything... just by being near.
I tried to make the stone represent him, but how do you embody your most important person, your biggest loss, your happiest moments in a few symbols? Not possible. With no other choices but to think it through or draw out the painful process by avoiding it, I chose a fleur de lis because he loved them after living in New Orleans. The metal clock in our living room is textured with them. We bought a New Orleans flour de lis ornament for our Christmas tree when we were on our honeymoon. He gravitated toward them always. I have recently learned that the fleur de lis is also a sign of resilience which is nice to know. On either side of the symbol I asked them to place three horizontal stripes. The designer found this a strange request, but I don't care. The stone is black marble and the etching is white. These horizontal lines are my subtle nod to referee stripes because it was his biggest and most passionate pursuit outside of family. I really hope he would have liked it. I really hope I am strong enough to carry myself to see it soon.
Tomorrow marks three terrible months of missing him.
Tomorrow marks three terrible months of missing him.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Assignments
I have given myself two assignments recently. Maybe it's the teacher in me. Maybe I'm weary of feeling hopeless. Maybe I'm just clinging to anything that keeps me from the brink of sorrow.
Assignment #1: I recently found myself at a coffee shop for 14 whole minutes of unscheduled time before my next errand. Without a toddler in tow. I cannot remember the last time this happened. So while I'm currently in the middle of a book that has actually been able to capture my scattered attention for more than ten minutes, I chose not to get it out. Instead, I ordered my favorite cup of black coffee and an apricot rugelach - my old standby. I sat in my favorite old spot in the window. I checked the time and for five whole minutes, I forced myself to unplug from my phone, iPad, other people, and most of my brain. For five whole minutes, I made myself think of only Matt's goodness. I watched the steam rising from the tops of downtown buildings and thought of him and his beautiful soul - everyday memories only a wife would be able to recall. I tried not to think about how much I missed that goodness and just moved on to another of his wonderful qualities when I veered toward a negative thought. It was a difficult exercise, not because I lacked for things to think about - but because I do miss him so much. For about 24 hours, I felt a little stronger. Now that I write this, the sadness is taking over once again. Maybe it's time for me to practice my homework.
Assignment #2: By chance, I found information online about a website and movement called 365grateful. In the spirit of the project and to force myself to really appreciate the positive in my life each day - more than just be aware - I have decided to document my gratitude. I am already aware that I am so lucky, but this project will force me to examine and focus in a way that is proving difficult for me lately. I have chosen Instagram as my vehicle, so I plan to post once every day about something positive from the previous day. I will reflect on my last 24 hours and find the good - even on the bad days. I'm on day 4/365. If interested, my Instagram name is fosley.
Assignment #1: I recently found myself at a coffee shop for 14 whole minutes of unscheduled time before my next errand. Without a toddler in tow. I cannot remember the last time this happened. So while I'm currently in the middle of a book that has actually been able to capture my scattered attention for more than ten minutes, I chose not to get it out. Instead, I ordered my favorite cup of black coffee and an apricot rugelach - my old standby. I sat in my favorite old spot in the window. I checked the time and for five whole minutes, I forced myself to unplug from my phone, iPad, other people, and most of my brain. For five whole minutes, I made myself think of only Matt's goodness. I watched the steam rising from the tops of downtown buildings and thought of him and his beautiful soul - everyday memories only a wife would be able to recall. I tried not to think about how much I missed that goodness and just moved on to another of his wonderful qualities when I veered toward a negative thought. It was a difficult exercise, not because I lacked for things to think about - but because I do miss him so much. For about 24 hours, I felt a little stronger. Now that I write this, the sadness is taking over once again. Maybe it's time for me to practice my homework.
Assignment #2: By chance, I found information online about a website and movement called 365grateful. In the spirit of the project and to force myself to really appreciate the positive in my life each day - more than just be aware - I have decided to document my gratitude. I am already aware that I am so lucky, but this project will force me to examine and focus in a way that is proving difficult for me lately. I have chosen Instagram as my vehicle, so I plan to post once every day about something positive from the previous day. I will reflect on my last 24 hours and find the good - even on the bad days. I'm on day 4/365. If interested, my Instagram name is fosley.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
New Year's Everything
Today is New Year's Eve. It has never been my favorite day of the year - too much pressure. Too many expectations for an epic experience. Too much letdown. A few years ago, I got smart and quit putting all of that expectation out there and I've been happier for it. Tonight I will see some wonderful friends and drink some delicious wine. I will probably eat too many snacks and I will go to bed a little later than normal. The whole time I will miss Matt.
Maybe the reason New Year's Eve is a bummer is because of the usual holiday high. Or the holiday crash afterward. The season is almost over and I have to say I'm feeling relieved which is not like me. Enduring was harder than I thought it would be, but I'm not sure why. I went into the season thinking it wouldn't be that difficult since every day is already a gauntlet anyway. How could it be harder than that? It was. To explain is also difficult.
My friends and family were nothing short of amazing to us during this season. The support and the rallying of Christmas cheer have gotten me through when I didn't think I could participate anymore. Matt and I were overwhelmed with love and good wishes on and near our wedding day. We talked about it - man, are we lucky. Then when we had Daphne, we were overwhelmed and surprised all over again. Those two experiences pale in comparison to the support Daphne and I feel from all around us - even from unexpected, dusty and far away places. Thank you, universe, for the gift of friendship. Make sure everyone has a little bit even if they don't have as much as I've been lucky to have.
Despite all of this, I never before have I felt so alone in a crowd. Lost is more like it. Like I'm missing a limb, or forgot something essential. It's the uneasy, the anger, the sad, the future, the bone-weary that I'm having a hard time with now. They say there are many stages of grief and that they are recursive instead of linear. How about simultaneous? The only one I haven't reached for even one second is acceptance. I'm guessing that any book or therapist would probably tell me that one day I will reach it, but right now I can't see it. Maybe I don't want to because I'm right in the middle of "anger" and "bargaining" or all the stages at once. So I'm stuck where I'm at - feeling everything and nothing and trying to keep it all together. I had a thought once or twice near Christmas that it was difficult to be around so many people because crying isn't always so accepted. How long is that phase going to last? The bruised peach phase... Anything can set me off and everything reminds me of him. Every song, every place, every road, every color, every meal. I want to talk about him all the time, but I can't bring myself to say anything about him at all. Keeping that in is going to make me burst.
I am still sleeping at the foot of the bed. I do not use our down comforter, but another blanket instead. The light from our master bathroom stays on every night. I have not touched one item from his side of our double-vanity sink. His side of the closet is still full. His referee shirt still hangs in our laundry room. For over a month, I left the small pile of clothes and hats he left in the living room exactly where he left them. After I picked them up, I spent a blurry half hour just standing in the living room trying to breathe through panicked tears. Now they are with his other closet things and the living room no longer looks lived in by him. I am incredulous that life and time can just move on without him. And now a new year.
Because I am stuck, because it is another holiday that I have to endure without him, I have decided that my New Year's resolution is just to be okay. Not great, but alright. I resolve to be okay in 2014.
Maybe the reason New Year's Eve is a bummer is because of the usual holiday high. Or the holiday crash afterward. The season is almost over and I have to say I'm feeling relieved which is not like me. Enduring was harder than I thought it would be, but I'm not sure why. I went into the season thinking it wouldn't be that difficult since every day is already a gauntlet anyway. How could it be harder than that? It was. To explain is also difficult.
My friends and family were nothing short of amazing to us during this season. The support and the rallying of Christmas cheer have gotten me through when I didn't think I could participate anymore. Matt and I were overwhelmed with love and good wishes on and near our wedding day. We talked about it - man, are we lucky. Then when we had Daphne, we were overwhelmed and surprised all over again. Those two experiences pale in comparison to the support Daphne and I feel from all around us - even from unexpected, dusty and far away places. Thank you, universe, for the gift of friendship. Make sure everyone has a little bit even if they don't have as much as I've been lucky to have.
Despite all of this, I never before have I felt so alone in a crowd. Lost is more like it. Like I'm missing a limb, or forgot something essential. It's the uneasy, the anger, the sad, the future, the bone-weary that I'm having a hard time with now. They say there are many stages of grief and that they are recursive instead of linear. How about simultaneous? The only one I haven't reached for even one second is acceptance. I'm guessing that any book or therapist would probably tell me that one day I will reach it, but right now I can't see it. Maybe I don't want to because I'm right in the middle of "anger" and "bargaining" or all the stages at once. So I'm stuck where I'm at - feeling everything and nothing and trying to keep it all together. I had a thought once or twice near Christmas that it was difficult to be around so many people because crying isn't always so accepted. How long is that phase going to last? The bruised peach phase... Anything can set me off and everything reminds me of him. Every song, every place, every road, every color, every meal. I want to talk about him all the time, but I can't bring myself to say anything about him at all. Keeping that in is going to make me burst.
I am still sleeping at the foot of the bed. I do not use our down comforter, but another blanket instead. The light from our master bathroom stays on every night. I have not touched one item from his side of our double-vanity sink. His side of the closet is still full. His referee shirt still hangs in our laundry room. For over a month, I left the small pile of clothes and hats he left in the living room exactly where he left them. After I picked them up, I spent a blurry half hour just standing in the living room trying to breathe through panicked tears. Now they are with his other closet things and the living room no longer looks lived in by him. I am incredulous that life and time can just move on without him. And now a new year.
Because I am stuck, because it is another holiday that I have to endure without him, I have decided that my New Year's resolution is just to be okay. Not great, but alright. I resolve to be okay in 2014.
- I will try to be okay with the unknown, because that sometimes feels like all I have in my future.
- I will try to be okay with my lack of control, but control the things I can like caring for Daphne.
- I will try to be okay with the passage of time even though the more time moves, the farther away from him I feel.
- I will try to be okay with asking for help when I need it.
- I will try to be okay with not being okay.
- I will try to be okay with missing him and knowing that there is no end point or relief from that feeling.
- I will try to be okay with finding my own peace and not getting it from outside sources.
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