13 Year Anniversary

Today would have been Brandon and my 13 year Anniversary. 

Each anniversary seems a bit different.  This year I had to do the math to know how many years we would have been celebrating today.  I didn't "just know" anymore.

There's sadness in that.  And legitimately so.  I would have known that before he died, and each year since he died I did "just know".  This year was the first time I didn't. 

I allow myself to let the tears fall.  Fall for the loss of a love, a life, a dream. 

And I let them fall for the reality of what moving forward is.

It's letting go of enough to take on the new life I am living, but holding on to enough to preserve the memories.

It's a hard balance. 

But it's also ok.  It means I am healing.  I am moving forward. 

I've worked hard to be able to hold both truths at once. 

I can be sad about the loss of what would have been, and also be grateful for what was and for where I am now.  They can exist in the same space.

I don't get lost in grief everyday anymore, and the special dates don't cause me anxiety anymore.  I've learned to make space for these feelings and let them be felt when they need to, then keep on keeping on.

So I take some time today to sit in the memories, look through the pictures, and remember March 25th, 2006, knowing we fulfilled the vows made on this day, 13 years ago. 

4 years later

4 years

I can’t believe it’s been 4 whole years. Some things hurt just as much as they did 1,460 days ago. Some things have found a place of peaceful healing since then. 

I can say that not a single day has passed that I didn’t think about Brandon. 

Sometimes it’s a quick passing moment that I’m reminded of him when a silver Jeep passes by,  I see a bag of Haribo gummy bears, or the clock reads 8:22.  I smile for a moment, warmed by the memory, and then I’m on to the next thing that has my attention. 

Sometimes I sink into the depths of the reality of loss. I find myself crying it out when Pink’s song “Who Knew” plays on the radio. My ordinary moment temporarily transformed to a mourning moment, and just as quickly brought back to ordinary by the next upbeat song.

Sometimes I even intentionally blast my “grief” playlist, allowing the words and music to draw out my tears and release the feelings bottled up inside. 

Then there are the moments that happen unexpectedly taking my breath away.  Snuggling the other night when putting Aria to bed, her head on my chest, she noticed my heart beat, and asked me to listen to hers. I laid my ear to her chest and suddenly I was transported back to 4 years ago, my ear to Brandon’s chest.  The moment of pure blind hope thinking his heartbeat came back, only to realize it was just my own echoing in my ear against his now eerily quiet body. 

Sometimes these moments warm my heart knowing that consciously and unconsciously his memory is still alive. Sometimes they are like a punch right in the heart making everything spin wildly around me.  But in either circumstance and all the ones in between I continue to be somewhat surprised that this is how it is for me 4 years later. 

Being a facilitator and participant in the Young & Widowed group I created has taught me so much about grief and loss. One of the most impactful truths I’ve found is that there is so much in common with those who walk this shitty path, yet every response we have is incredibly complex and unique to each of us. 

The struggle to truly incorporate loss into life is difficult. I don’t want to be a part of the living dead, burying all of myself with him. I still have a life to live, and I only get one, and it can be taken from me at any moment. 

And I also don’t want to leave behind 10 incredibly impactful years of my life shared with someone. Someone who became a part of me, who influenced and shaped me, and is a part of my history, which will never change.

So I have to find that place between the two that makes sense. A place where two loves can be in harmony, a unique struggle for widows. There is no “replacement”, and love does not “cure” loss.  All the while trying to wholeheartedly embrace the excitement of happiness and love for another. It truly is complex and challenging. 

So 4 years later, what can I conclude about this widowed experience? Well, year 1, 2, 3 and 4 all suck in different ways. There are new challenges in each part of this experience. It doesn’t ever go away, and I guess I shouldn’t expect it to, grief is love. Brandon and I had no reason to stop loving each other, so it’s my tribute to the commitment we made. 

But I can say I’ve come so far. I have a lot of joy and happiness and hope in my life. And that’s truly an accomplishment.

12 year anniversary

I can’t believe it’s been since September that I wrote anything. I feel I have so much to share about this journey that’s good, bad, ugly, embarrassing, honest and just plain real. I just can’t find the time or correct mindset these days to put the words down. 

But today would have been Brandon and my 12 year wedding anniversary. Outside of death I had no doubt we would share this day together. That was our commitment, and that was our love. 

But death happened. Three and a half years ago. And we are not spending this day together.

I had a number of people send me well wishes hoping I was doing ok. (Thank you all!)

We all have certain dates that are just the worst in grief. In spousal loss wedding/dating anniversaries can often be the worst. It’s the epitome of what differentiates an intimate relationship from all the other relationships in our lives. (As a birthday is often the hardest to those who lost a child.)

As I sat - ok, laid on the sofa in a DayQuil induced haze- I thought about this. I reflected on what today used to mean to me; A celebration of another year together growing closer together, overcoming the obstacles of life together. Success.

Then I thought about what it meant to me after death; a marking of time lost unique to only me. Our loss. Love is hard to find, and it reminded me of the depth of my loss. 

But today was different.  This is my 4th anniversary without Brandon. I believe time has helped that shift. I also believe love has helped that shift. 

I am glad that (for the most part) I look at this date as the start of a beautiful part of my life. One of the biggest influences on the person I became, becoming a wife. A partner. One with another. 

That part of my life was unfortunately short. But it is what it is. I don’t like it, I never will. A good man was taken from the lives of so many at only 33 years old. 

I am going to be transparent here and say that my “tolerance” to this day is not just from time, and counseling, and support groups and perspective. Yes, that is a huge part of it. 

But is because of love too. I struggled to open my heart to love someone else. Not only to love a man other than Brandon, but to love another man and still hold love for Brandon. 

That is hard enough. But it gets harder. Then I had to allow myself to love another more actively than Brandon. To put another before Brandon. Because that is what it takes to commit your life to someone. 

This is very hard for a widow(er).  It is very unique to widowhood. It is judged from the outside. We are told milestones that we “should and should not” be doing things in. We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to know what to do and what not to do and when to do it. 

It took me 16 months before I actually found myself able to completely do that. Thankfully Karl is a very patient man! But it has not been easy.

I can say at the moment I have come to a place of peaceful remembrance on this day. Yes, I shed tears. That’s ok. Love and loss can exist in harmony together. And I’m so grateful that God allowed me to find such an amazing man that has helped me get to this place in my messy life. Who Aria loves as a father.  Aside from doing it himself, I can’t imagine Brandon wanting anything more.

So I look back, 12 years ago, 22 and newlywed. I’m grateful for those years that Brandon taught me how to love unconditionally. And I only hope that the love he poured into me will truly shine through me as his legacy. And I can carry that with me forever. 

Destination Sadness

Onboard a plane, destination sadness. Or at least that's the goal. 

Well that was kind of dramatic...<rolling my eyes>

On September 23rd it will be 3 years since Brandon died. It took 3 years to use that word instead of "passed". 

It seems silly that I need to seek out sadness. Connect with my loss. Most would think I've spent enough time with sadness in these 3 years. But no - seems I've avoided it like the plague. I guess it's not all that uncommon.  But it did take me by surprise.  

I worked SO hard on my grief. I went to therapy. I got involved in support groups. I attended Griefshare and grief seminars. I read books, listened to pod casts and journaled. I started a monthly Young & Widowed support group at the HeartLight Center. I thought I had "dealt" with this. 

On the contrary I'm finding that I accepted my grief, but I never felt my grief.

That first year I was in shock and survival mode. From diagnosis thru death I had to stay strong to show Brandon I could do this. He broke when he'd see me cry, so I couldn't. He could no longer be my strength when I was weak - so I had to be strong for both him and Aria. I could not allow myself to feel the pain, fear and anxiety that was bearing down on me as I watched him slip away.

Then I had a newborn and Lupus and a house and a job to take care of on my own. I simply could not allow myself to feel, I had to just do. 

So I "did" grief. I did everything I could. I kept myself busy, I smiled and laughed. On rare occasions tears would slip through the facade, then I'd logic them away with statements of faith and acceptance. 

I could not allow myself to carry the sadness because I feared I could not hold one more thing without it all crashing down. 

So I didn't. 

And I became quite good at compartmentalizing those feelings. 

But the reality I have found is like the quote: "That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt."  

I think now that I am engaged to Karl and in a loving and supportive relationship the walls of those compartments are coming down because unconsciously I know that someone will be there if I fall, so now I can take this on. And in due timing as I think the sadness and pain and fear are starting to overflow those walls and seep into other areas to get the attention they need. 

This is surely a realization I do not want to face.  To be honest I'm annoyed. I thought I had done the hard work. 

Trust me, I know that everyone's grief journey is different, and we do not "complete" this - we "incorporate" it, and we need to be gentle with ourselves, and I'm doing the best I can with what I have and blah blah blah. Yes, all of that is absolutely true - but it doesn't make it any less annoying or scary to have to deal with.

I'm tired. 

I'm tired of dealing with grief. 

...Or not dealing with grief. 

So I sit here on a bench in Miami staring out at the water, writing and trying to connect with the sadness I have distracted myself from. To feel it and give it a home in my heart. 

It's hard. 

I keep trying to "schedule" my grieving. I do it when I go up to his grave. When I run to Miami. But the truth of it is that I can't do it that way. Yes, it gives me needed time for reflection, but not authentic bereavement.  

I will need to feel the sadness when it surfaces, of course at the most inopportune moments in life.  And I know I need to give it that space instead of stuffing it back in that box.   

I need to incorporate it.

And embrace it.

Wish me luck...

Widowhood FAQ: How are you doing?

Q: How did you get out of bed in the morning?

Q: What did you do with his stuff?

Q: When did you start dating?

You know you're curious, and that is very much ok.  It's the human condition. People's stories of trial are intriguing.

I've had the random nail technician ask me how I could still sleep in the same bed without him in it.  Fellow widow(er)s inquire on how to know when you're ready to date? Friends of friends ask if I've taken all his pictures down. 

So I want to share more about this experience. I hope it can help other widow(er)s to put words to the chaos in their mind knowing they aren't the only ones thinking crazy thoughts or doing downright stupid things.  Maybe it will give those supporting others in grief to know better how to help. Or maybe it will just quench some curiosity. 

God created me to have large holes in my filter, be incredibly blunt and sarcastic and share my life like an open book...unashamedly.   (Sometimes I really should be more ashamed...) And I just hope I can use these traits to bring something out of an incredibly difficult experience. 

So - send me a message if you have something you're curious about and I'll try to answer it. 

And I'll start with a brief disclaimer. I am in no way representing anyone else's journey through this. Grief, like love and like a fingerprint, is completely unique to each of us. There are absolutely commonalities, but what was right for me to do is not right for everyone to do. And generally speaking there is no "right" or "wrong" way to do it.  This is just my individual story.

Also, I may share things that can lead to painful judgement.  That's fine - I know who my Judge is, and it isn't you. (Sorry!)  I'm not proud of a lot of my ways of coping, but I am continuing to do the best I can with what I have.  (Thank you therapy for allowing me to finally accept this truth!) 

I am only human.  Would I do things differently?  Yeah - probably.  But it was a journey I had to take, mistakes I had to make, and victories I had to experience.  

The truth is that no matter how many times you put yourself mentally in a situation, until you are living it you truly do not know what you would or wouldn't do.  I proved my own preconceptions wrong over and over and took myself by surprise.  

Even when asked a very common and simple Frequently Asked Question:

"How are you doing?"

Well - in grief that changes day to day and minute to minute.  Most often my reply would be generic:  "Fine.", "Getting through.", "Tired."  

Believe it or not, it is a very hard question to answer.  Everything in me wanted to say "Awful.  I'm a brand new mom with lupus grieving the death of my 33 year old husband while trying to keep a newborn alive.  Daily I wish for a Mack truck to take out Aria and I while driving so we can just be done with all this.  Or you know what - maybe a carbon monoxide leak while we are sleeping would be less traumatic for those we will be leaving behind.  Whatever the method, I don't care, just make sure to take us both at the same time, and soon.  Everyday is like the movie groundhog day and I hate my life.  Thanks for asking, and how are you doing?"

However, I don't think that's the response anyone is prepared to hear!

And it's not a bad thing to ask that question, whether out of true concern or out of just not knowing what else to say.  

But here is a little suggestion I learned along the way.  Instead when conversing with someone going through a really hard time, ask "How are you doing today?"  It breaks it down into a manageable chunk for the grieving brain to attempt to process and answer.

And if you are in that person's inner circle, don't be afraid to say, "No-really, how badly are you doing today?" -if you can handle the truth.  Just know, we don't expect you to know what to say or how to fix us.  I often just wanted to tell someone the shit I was going through and just say to me, "I am so sorry.  Yeah - you're life really sucks right now." and just allow me to unload the chaos spinning in my mind.

These days, 2 1/2 years later, I can answer that question much easier.  I am not in shock anymore.  I have accepted that Brandon died.  Accepting does not mean I am OK with what happened, this is a common misunderstanding.  For me it meant that I knew it was real.  Denial and disbelief are very real parts of grieving.  And once I got beyond those feelings I knew I had a choice with what to do with that reality.  Pretty much solely for Aria's sake, I knew I had to find healing and live life not death.  

Some days I did "Fine.", some days I just "Got through", and some days I was "Tired of trying so hard."  

These days I have been able to answer with, "Really good, actually.", and it still surprises me. I hope that brings hope.