A lifetime....

A lot has changed in two years.....

For those of you not in the "know," Facebook has launched a new design called "timeline." It chronicles all of your online activity since you first joined Facebook, including all of your status updates, photos, pages "liked," friends gained (and lost), etc. It is a snapshot of a life really -- we put so much of ourselves online these days, that it is an almost surreal look at one's life, moment by moment, and thought by thought.

I know my widow friends are going to have mixed reactions to this feature. I started to go through mine yesterday, and am editing posts and adding stories and events to fill in the blanks of my life. It is hard, at times, and like so many things in widowhood, it is bittersweet. This past year has been filled with happy things -- it started off with my 1 year sadiversary, but was filled with so many good times with my new sweetie and I got engaged and remarried at the end of it.

But the timeline works backwards through your life..... so as I work back I return to a time that seems more like a lifetime ago, and not just two years. It is so hard to believe that I haven't seen or heard Mike for almost two years..... how does this happen? But he lives on in Facebook.

I don't know if the designers at Facebook thought about these things when they started to create this feature, but I am sure for anyone who has lost someone during their time as a Facebook user, that they will have mixed reactions to it. It can, and has, brought back a lot of memories, and emotions, and even a kick or two from the grief monster as I scroll down. Despite this, and I know it probably seems weird, but I am almost grateful to have this technology -- something that may seem like it is overly invasive of our private lives, also serves as this.... time capsule. Preserved are the moments we shared, moments that are now just memories in my head, they live on in cyberspace. If I just scroll back far enough, there he is, still alive, still there to offer a cheeky comment on my picture or status update, still there a part of my life.

I am approaching the two year mark in just over a month -- and am currently getting ready to go back to WI.... the last Christmas I had there was with Mike in late 2009, but this year will be with my new husband. This is a time when nostalgia and memories naturally come to the forefront, but being able to look back so graphically has made the loss feel so very real to me again. After all, I can't reminisce about what we were doing "this time last year" like I did last year.... the added time has made the realness of him fade a little bit in my mind.

The other thing that this does, is remind us of other things and people lost along the way -- many widowed people I know, myself included, lost a lot of other people as a result of the death of their spouse. Grief does a funny thing to people, and some people can't or won't deal with it, some people need to blame someone and the surviving spouse becomes an easy target, and others simply can't deal with us, or grow tired of us long before we've worked through our grief. But Facebook has not forgotten that there was once a time when there were more people in my life..... if I go back far enough in my timeline those friends also return. It's almost like you can scroll all the way to the bottom and pretend that life is still how it used to be.....

But you can't live down at the bottom of the screen forever. I still have a lot more status updates to keep adding, funny quotes to share, pictures to post, and life events to add. So I say "good-bye" to my past for now-- knowing that I can go back to look and reminisce when I want to. As hard as it is sometimes, it also is a comfort to know that I can so easily access these memories. I guess the makers of Facebook know that sometimes our brains forget things, forget people, forget moments, so they thought they would help us to hold on..... and for me, and others who have lost loved ones, this is a very special thing to have -- a link to our past. So thank you Facebook, you may be controversial in your decisions sometimes, but this time you got it exactly right.

On my wedding day....

We are not having a traditional wedding, so we won't have our "first" dance, but if I was going to pick out a song that expresses how I feel about my new husband, this would be it. I love you sweetie.

Courage

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do." ~Eleanor Roosevelt

I'll let you in on a little secret -- I'm petrified.

I think that sometimes people look at me, and what I've been through, and figure that I must be stronger and braver than I really am. I also think that people look at how I have moved forward with my life and assume that things are now "easy" for me -- I am now happy, so everything must be all better. None of this is really true -- not only have I never felt strong, nor brave, nor particularly good at dealing with hardship, but it's not always all better either. No, I just keep chugging along because that is all there really is to do. Sure, life has gotten easier, and I am a whole lot happier, but this doesn't mean that I am (or ever will be) completely ok. I don't know if anyone who has not been through this can really understand what I am getting at, but I don't really ever think there will be a moment where what I have been through will no longer affect who it is I have become.

I have been experiencing a bit of panic lately. Not because of the usual wedding jitters one might expect, but because the reality of the whole thing is so much more to me this time around. Sometimes I have to stop myself, because the fear of it all can really get a hold of me until I can start to feel my heart race and breathing becomes difficult. You see, I really am aware of what my wedding vows will mean & I am really, no, I'm hyper-aware that all marriages eventually come to an end. It is hard for me to sort out the emotions involved in the happiness and excitement of a beginning, from the fear and panic of the ending. And sometimes, even if I hold him tight, it feels like no matter how much I want to hold on to my fiance now, that I know there will come a day when he won't be there for me to hold.....

Maybe it is because I have been through it, that I am so afraid to go through it again. Having loved and lost already, also seems to intensify the emotions and love I have now for my fiance, and maybe the fear of losing him is also intensified because of it. I don't know. On one hand, I know it is irrational to worry about losing him to the point of a panic attack, but on the other hand, I don't know how I could be expected not to. I don't really have any answers.

One thing I do know, is that I made a conscious decision to not let the fear hold me back from being able to live again, nor allow it to stop me from finding love again. I made that decision when I first let him walk into my life. And the simple truth is, we don't know, and can't know (and I wouldn't want to know) what the future holds, but I do know that no matter what happens, I will deal with it when it comes. And in the meantime, I will hold my fiance as tight as I can, and together we can have the courage to go forward-- deep into the unknown.

Happy Birthday

Yesterday would have been my late husband's 40th birthday. Not that we would have celebrated it (he never did celebrate his birthday), but he did like to indulge in having cake anyway. We used to joke about how "old" he was getting as he crept up towards this birthday..... little did we know he wouldn't make it past 38.

I don't have anything much to say about it, no wise words, good quotes or advice to give..... just another day where I stop and pause for a minute & indulge in a  "what would have been" moment. But these days don't seem to hit me with the same amount of impact that they had the first year. Instead, after my brief pause, I continue to go about my life -- although it is always with the knowledge that even the most mundane moments are now the most precious.

Re-married widows

¹wid·ow

noun \ˈwi-(ˌ)dō\

1 a : a woman who has lost her husband by death and usually has not remarried

In just over 2 weeks I will be re-married. And so in the technical sense of things, I will no longer be considered a "widow." I am ok with this.

There are a number of widows, well, former widows technically, who write about the topic & continue to refer to themselves as remarried widows. To each his own, but I personally would not want to do this. I don't necessarily think we need to get all technical about it, after all there are plenty of people I know who didn't even get to legally marry their loved one, prior to the death, that also consider themselves "widows," and I would too, but for some reason this whole concept of a "remarried" widow gets under my skin.

I understand the need to maintain a connection to the spouse that has died. I don't want to be told that just because I become remarried, that somehow my first marriage no longer "counts." And if I am blessed with a long next marriage, I don't feel it will somehow mean my first (and very short) marriage was somehow less significant to me or my life. I just don't like using that word.

I had a love/hate relationship with even being a "widow." At first, I just considered myself still married, so I didn't even want to use it. Then I reluctantly took it on, because it was better than having people call me "single" (still gets to me, FYI) and I was certainly not divorced -- a reason I also reluctantly began to use "late" for my first husband (to avoid confusion once I started a new relationship), because he is not, nor will ever be my "ex."

But here's the thing -- when I remarry, I am agreeing to become the wife of my new husband. I will be a wife again, albeit to a different person. To me, this means that he needs to get the priority, after all he is the guy who is still here. As much as I loved my late husband, that marriage has ended. Death does that. It's that whole "'till death do us part business" I am about to say again. If I were to continue to refer to myself as a "remarried widow" I feel that this somehow would always bring up the fact that my new husband is second. Yes, he is technically second, but I mean second in the sense of where my priorities are. If my first husband had never died, I would not be about to remarry..... but he did. And since he can no longer be with me, I do admit that I was open to finding someone new. After all, as all those DGI's liked to remind me, "I am still young." But it was less about the fact that I am still young & more about the fact that I just could not see myself spending the next 50-60 years of my life all alone. We are not made to be alone, we are made to be with people, and to love people and these things oftentimes lead to finding someone in particular you love and who loves you back. To have found this again feels more like I was given a second chance to have a happy life, not a second (i.e., back-up) husband. And I intend on loving him as much as if he were the first and only man I have ever known, and feel he deserves no less from me. Sure I will always remember, and in my own way, continue to love my late husband -- but this does not mean we make our subsequent relationships less significant. Our hearts can grow to accommodate as much love as we want, there is no limit on how many people can fit in there (and wouldn't life be so much more lonely if there were?).

So yes, in a few weeks I will be remarried. And I will say good-bye to being a widow, and hello to being a wife.

Mike and his Apple

"The world has lost a visionary. And there may be no greater tribute to Steve's success than the fact that much of the world learned of his passing on a device he invented."

—President Obama on the passing of Steve Jobs



Ever since I knew him, Mike loved Apple. He was always an early adopter of whatever new device came out. Even when he had no money to spare, he manged to find enough to buy the latest laptop, operating system, or whatever new gizmo came next -- iPods, iTV, iWhatever-you-can-think-of, and finally..... at long last he got his iPhone.

At the time we lived in Manhattan -- and the flagship store on 5th avenue was a favorite hangout of Mike's. He would go there before we had a steady place to live, just so he could use their free wi-fi and sit amongst his favorite products. When Apple finally announced the long-awaited iPhone, Mike could not wait. He went down there early that day and stood in line for about 4 hours just so he could say he was the first person he knew to get one. In all the absurdity I even turned on the world news that night to watch the coverage of all the people going into the Apple store. Being New York, they of course were filming the 5th avenue store -- infamously recognizable as the big glass cube. So who do I see? Yes, that's right, just as they were filming, I see Mike walking into the store, giving out high-fives to all the apple employees who were there cheering everyone in. It was crazy.

I have to admit that because of Mike's Apple stuff I did grow to understand why people go gaga for Apple. The stuff is just neat. And it does neat stuff. And no one else's stuff does the same neat stuff as good as, or as easy as, Apple. They are always first. But that was because of Steve Jobs....

He was one of Mike's biggest heroes. To him, the genius of Apple was more than a cool product that did what you wanted. It was also in the design -- being a designer himself, Mike appreciated and recognized the complexity in the simple designs that Apple created. A phone with only 1 button? Who thought of that before Apple? A portable device that is as smaller than my hand, but can hold my entire CD collection? Again, who thought of this first? And besides, Apple is cool.

Every time there was a new product launch, Mike would watch the live stream of Steve Jobs' keynote presentations. He would then call me up, usually while I was at work, to tell me about what it is they were coming out with. By the time I came home, he would have the details in all the specs and all the cool stuff it did, and then would try to convince me why he needed to buy it.

He was just as excited for the iPad to come out as he was for the iPhone. He knew what the rumors were, but eagerly awaited for the keynote for it. It is one of the things that sticks in my head about that day.... they announced the release of the iPad on January 27, 2010.

I'd like to think that now Mike is able to finally meet his hero.

Thank you Steve for what you gave the world -- more than just technology, you gave us a sense of wonder and a unique way to view our surroundings, and I am quite sure it will never be the same again. And the today the world is just a little bit darker for those that are left.

The day he got his iPhone

Bittersweet Anniversary

Four years ago today, I got to marry the man who was the love of my old life. In just a few weeks I get to marry the man who is love of my new life.

Last year I made a video as a tribute to my late husband, and to me, it says everything it is I feel as I look back over the years I got to spend with him. So I will let the pictures and music say it for me. Love you and miss you always......

Don't Stop Believin'

"Some will win, some will lose -- Some were born to sing the blues...."

Everything happens for a reason.

I can't think of a phrase that I hate more than that one. To me it somehow implies that people "deserve" what happens in life, and this would include the good and the bad. And why would this be? Why do some people manage to go through life and nothing bad ever touches them? And others have to deal with so much tragedy? Most of us, I think, are somewhere in-between, but whatever events happen in your life, I can't believe that it is all part of some "grand plan" the universe has to control and manipulate your life. I just refuse to believe in a God that would have this be so.... because if it was true it would be awful to imagine that some of the worst people out there somehow "deserve" to get away with their evil, while some really good people only suffer. It makes no sense that this would somehow be on purpose.

I think, and prefer to believe, that everything is just sort of.... random. Life happens. Or better yet, as one of my favorite quotes (by one of my favorite people, John Lennon) puts it, "Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans." In other words, although we, or anybody else, doesn't exactly control what happens, the world keeps on moving in the same way it always has. Sort of like the idea of evolution -- that it is all random events, but when the random events wind up being a benefit, nature grabs a hold and "selects" these things by virtue that more individuals in a given generation, who have just the right traits, go on to survive and more importantly, reproduce, thus passing the trait along to the next generation. Those with the right traits for the right time win. Those without will lose. So is our everyday life -- life happens, and how we manage to cope with the changes presented to us dictates our next move and how well we will go on to survive and thrive. Not everyone wins. That too, is life.

In the context of my own life, I've spent a lot of time pondering about what happened, and how it happened, and why it happened the way it did. There are so many chain of events I could (and often do) try to trace in my mind, it quickly becomes apparent that either everything, including every single mis-step and tragedy that has ever befallen me has been carefully orchestrated to get me to where I am now, or that everything is, in fact, just a random sequence of events, in which I have selected my path from a series of choices as I've moved along in life. I mean, I don't really believe that my whole life with my late husband was "destined" to end the way it did, nor that he was "supposed to die young." I do believe it was just random, plain old rotten, bad luck that he was born with a mutation in his chromosomes that would cause his heart to grow too big to work properly & then one day it just gave out. I don't know why this had to happen -- I don't even think there is a good answer to the "why." I had to just stop asking.... you can't go on to live your life if you get caught up in the "why me?" mindset.

One of the things I always admired about my late husband was his ability to deal with reality -- no matter how bad it seemed to be. The moment something happened, traumatic or otherwise, his mind had this ability to accept it and quickly shift into gear to tackle the problem. He was the guy you wanted around in a crisis.... he was the one who would always keep the level head. I always need to panic a bit first. Then I have a lot of denial -- it takes me a long, long time to even begin to start thinking about what to do to fix the problem. I usually waste quite a bit of time wishing I could undo whatever thing it was that caused the crisis in the first place, no matter how futile. He was my rock. The solid ground to stand on when your world felt like quicksand. So when I had to face his death, I was so, so very lost. Just when I needed him the most....... he was no longer there. And would never come back. I had to learn how to deal with his loss all on my own. Without a doubt in my mind, this has been the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. Which is why I will never stand here before you and for a single moment, accept the idea that this all "happened for a reason."

When I first set out to try to deal with this I felt completely alone. I remember sitting in the house that had been "our house" for hours.... just sitting there listening to the complete silence. I don't think I've ever experienced a silence like that. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the place when they took my husband away, and left behind was.... just this big empty. I didn't know what to do, or how to feel, or how to act. I walked around in a sort of dream-state, the world kept happening around me but I was only there watching it, I was no longer a part of it. It took me a long time to start to rejoin those around me again, and it certainly did not happen all at once, and I did not manage to do this all on my own, either. I found others, who were like me, and were also trying to come back to the rest of the world, and we helped each other along. When I first reached out to other people, other widows, I found a lot of comfort knowing that I was not alone. I know that I had family and friends who desperately wanted to help me, but  they just couldn't. I needed people who understood me, exactly where I was, and what I was going through. Knowing old people who had lost spouses did not help either, because part of my grief was the anger I felt losing him so young. I was cheated. Cheated out of the life we were supposed to live together. Cheated out of the children I never got to have. Cheated out of so much that we had planned, but would never get to do. I needed others who could relate to these feelings.

I am not sure where it came from, but early on I read a story called "The Journey." It is a story about how grief is like a journey through the mountains.... that we climb up, only to be thrown back down along the way. But sometimes down in the deepest pits of our journey, is where we find the most hope:

                       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. 

It was here, in my deepest valley that I began to find the things I needed. I found other young widowed people, people who like me, did not know anyone near them who knew what they were going through. We found each other online, and in some cases that led to me being able to meet and become friends with people, who happened to live near me, that I would have otherwise never knew existed. It was as if a divine hand, although could not prevent tragedy from entering my life, provided me with ways to make it through. And once I began to think about it that way, I no longer felt so alone and so abandoned. I've thought about how fortunate I was that, if it this had to happen to me, I was to be where I was when it did happen. I had finally found a good job, a job that allowed me to go away and deal with what I needed to and waited for me to come back. I had people around me -- friends and family who cared about me and continued to reach out to me even when I was too weak to reach back. I found new friends who stepped in when some of the old could no longer be who I needed and walked out of my life instead. And finally, when my heart had started to heal and I no longer tried to get my old life back, a new life began to emerge. This is what led me to then find the best part of it all.

                             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.

I won't say that it was easy to just start a new relationship, or that it instantly made me happy again. I am sure if you asked, that Boyfriend would tell you how I would call him up at 1 AM crying because I missed my husband. Or how hard it was for me to not feel guilty because I was feeling good again. And it is terrifying to think about how I am risking putting myself through this all over again, because in the end we will all die. I may not have waited long enough for some people, and for others it may have been too long -- but I just followed my own instinct and my own heart. I have decided to take a leap of faith, because despite it all, the good that you get from sharing your life and your heart with someone will always outweigh the risk that it will also be broken someday. At least I think so. And so far it has worked out for me, and with each passing day it only seems to get better and better.

"There are no happy endings. Endings are the saddest part, So just give me a happy middle, And a very happy start" (Shel Silverstein)

They may not have been obvious when I started out, but I have indeed found the foothills. I am now preparing to begin a whole new journey, as Boyfriend is soon to be Husband. So, although I still won't believe anyone who tells me that "things happen for a reason," sometimes good things do happen, and sometimes these good things come out of our most tragic moments. For those of you who can't quite see them yet, I am here to tell you that the foothills are, in fact, out there, just, as the song says: "don't stop believing," and you will find them. And I'll be there too, hoping my happy middle lasts a long, long time......

Movement

"I hear the clock, it's six a.m.-- I feel so far from where I've been"

I've had this line from Jewel's song going through my head all day....

I know it is a breakup song, but not so many people write music about when the person you love dies, but most of these songs fit my mood fairly well, since death is sort of like the biggest breakup possible, huh?

I don't know if it is the weather, or the fact that I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, or the fact that lately no matter how exhausted I am I lay awake at night with my mind going a hundred miles a minute.

I've been feeling so very far away.

I am extremely happy for where my life has been going. I feel like I have, in many respects, come so far in my efforts to pick up and rebuild my life. I have started a new life, one I am very grateful for every single day. I have a job I love, good friends, a wonderful boyfriend..... so many good things in my life. So many times these days, I don't even think about the girl I used to be. And maybe that is why -- why when I do stop and think about things, I realize that I am moving farther away from where I came, and that means farther away from him. Sometimes my husband feels like a dream I had, but not really someone that was ever here in my real life.

"Dreams last so long, even after you're gone"

I want to hold on so badly, but the more I keep moving forward, the more he seems to slip away from me. Soon he will have been gone longer than we were married, and eventually will come the day that he will have been gone longer than I knew him. That is the problem -- as long as I keep on living, he will still be dead. And the day will come where I am older than he will ever get to be..... and I can't help but think about these things. And it makes me miss him all over again -- because I can't hold on. I can't keep him as close as he was, because in time the memory becomes further and further in my past, and my present keeps moving on....

So today, I will go ahead and let myself miss him. Because in a way, that keeps his memory fresh, and that is as close to me as I get to keep him anymore.

I hear the clock, it's six a.m.
I feel so far from where I've been
I got my eggs I got my pancakes too
I got my maple syrup, everything but you.
I break the yolks, make a smiley face
I kinda like it in my brand new place
I wipe the spots off the mirror
Don't leave the keys in the door
Never put wet towels on the floor anymore' cause

Dreams last so long
even after you're gone
I know you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you.

I called my momma, she was out for a walk
Consoled a cup of coffee but it didn't wanna talk
So I picked up a paper, it was more bad news
More hearts being broken or people being used
Put on my coat in the pouring rain
I saw a movie it just wasn't the same
'Cause it was happy or I was sad
It made me miss you oh so bad 'cause

Dreams last so long
even after you're gone
I know you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you.

I go about my business, I'm doing fine
Besides what would I say if I had you on the line
Same old story, not much to say
Hearts are broken, everyday.
I brush my teeth and put the cap back on
I know you hate it when I leave the light on
I pick a book up. Turn the sheets down.
And then I take a deep breath and a good look around
Put on my pjs and hop into bed
I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead
I try and tell myself it'll be all right
I just shouldn't think anymore tonight 'cause

Dreams last so long
even after you're gone
I know you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you.

Yeah... You were meant for me and I was meant for you.

I am Widow....

This will just be a short post about something that has been bothering me again lately -- I have some longer ones in the works, but am still trying to get them to sound the way I want them too. Sometimes I find it hard to find the right words to express what it is I want to say, so it may be a minute before I get some new posts up.

What has been bugging me today is the very identity I wear -- that of "widow." At first I very much was afraid of such an identity, wanting to hold on as long as possible to the feeling of being married, and that of a wife. How could I be a wife without a husband? I reluctantly took on the name of widow....

After all, this is who I am. I was a wife, whose marriage ended not by any person's choosing, not in divorce, but in death. An ending more familiar to perhaps my grandparents or great-grandparent's generations, especially for someone my age. Yet, by the very vows I took on my wedding -- it was over. However, this is far, far different from saying that it never existed.

Which brings me to what has once again been bothering me: the word "single." No, I am NOT single. Single belongs to those who were never married.... single is for those whose boyfriends dumped them..... single is for the me that existed before I became a fiance and later a wife. I cannot, and would not want to be "single" again. And yet, there I was, filling out forms in my doctor's office again, and once again faced the choice of choosing: single, married, divorced. That's it. Three choices. I am neither. I am a widow.

To me this is the epitome of ignorance and disrespect. It disrespects my late husband. It disrespects my marriage. It treats it like it never existed. And why is this? Why do divorced people still get to identify themselves as unique -- they who CHOSE how their marriage ended, get to still claim it as a part of their history, but those of us whose marriages ended not by our choice, and for most of us while we were still in love with that person, we aren't allowed to still claim it.

It is especially ignorant to be faced with this from a medical provider. After all, statistics will back me up on this -- widows and widowers face all sorts of very real, physical problems because of what we have been through. We are a high-risk group for all sorts of health issues from depression, to anxiety, PTSD, heart disease, high-blood pressure, etc., etc. Just the very fact I was widowed cuts my life expectancy significantly -- no matter how well I seemingly cope & recover from the loss. You would THINK that an F'in doctor would want to be aware of this fact so they could pay attention to warning signs that all may not be ok, and could intervene early if needed.

I know that I am not the first person to complain about this. And yet our collective voices seem to be ignored. When I first went to this particular doctor, I scribbled out all the options and wrote my own : WIDOWED. This last visit I noticed that they have decided for me that I should be labeled "single." Well.... to put it bluntly, fuck that. I am never going back to this doctor. I will write her office a letter explaining this very issue to them and then change providers. You see I am still angry about this issue, no matter how much time goes by, and since my voice is ignored I will exercise my wallet and not give any money to any stupid son of a bitch that ignores what I have tried to tell them, no matter who they are. Because I will not put up with anyone, ANYONE who tries to tell me that my marriage, or my husband did not matter.......

Today I am proud to say that I was married to the man who was my husband. And I did not end this by my choice. I have lived through the hell that his death put me through and have made it out the other side. I carry the scars both inside and out from the experience. I may have decided to move forward with my life, and at some point I will likely re-marry (in which case I won't technically be able to claim this as my status anymore), but until that day comes, do NOT ever call me single, because I am a WIDOW.

Call up to Heaven

"Oh I want to scream out loud
That there is nothing wrong
With saying your name
A million times
I write it in a song
And sing it up to heaven
For you to hear
A million times"

18 months. It feels so strange to say that I've made it this far. I no longer count the days, or the weeks or the months, but I guess I still think about the big dates. It's not like I feel that I am actively grieving anymore, but I still acknowledge the date in my mind. The memories have become a bittersweet mix of longing for what I've lost, as well as a happiness for the good times I did have. The memories can bring a smile as much as a tear to my eye.... though I still feel the sting in my face. But I can blink these tears away, and come back to the present as quickly as I let my mind wander to the past.

My late husband lived in a world of music. He used to spend hours, day and night, working in front of his computer. And while he worked he would listen to music. Over time I came to know the songs and the music he most loved to work to.... the sound of these had become so familiar that I only have to hear an opening beat of a song and I am instantly transported to another time and another place. After he died I inherited his computer and I started to play his music. At first I gravitated to the familiar, the songs that reminded me of him, and made me feel that he was still with me. Over time I began to listen to a more random selection of the thousands and thousands of songs he had. Some things were surprising, and it was certainly eclectic, just like he was. I found a release in the music that I don't think other mediums can duplicate.... a certain song or lyric would speak directly to me in a way that at times I felt like he was talking to me through his music. I felt this connection to a very personal and intimate part of him that I was never even fully aware of while he was alive. I think this is why over the course of my grieving I have felt the need to express myself through music.... whether it is a song, or a particular lyric, or just a feeling that you get from listening to it, music can sometimes give the world a glimpse of what we are feeling in a way that words cannot always express. This is why I found it fitting when I found this one in his music library:

I wish there was a way to call up to heaven. If there was I could tell you how very much you are still missed and always on my mind. Although the pain subsides, my love never will. I will keep your memory in my heart for the rest of my life. I hope you are at peace now, and wherever you are that you still can hear the music. Love you.

A double life

Almost a year and a half later I still have moments where I cannot believe that this is my life. I still have moments where my brain cannot comprehend that he is actually dead. Gone. Forever. I sometimes have these out of body moments where it is just so hard to believe that the vibrant, full of life man that was my husband, is just not here anymore. I still have nightmares about that day. I still sometimes have nights of insomnia. I still sometimes get hit with an overwhelming feeling of saddness and lonliness-- no matter where I am or who I am with. Sure, these moments happen less and less, and at this point I live most days feeling pretty normal. But these moments still creep up on me.

I have these other moments where I cannot believe that this life I have now, is in fact my life. It is really hard to explain, because the opposite of my sad moments are these moments of pure joy and happiness-- and a feeling that this cannot possibly be my life. How did I get so lucky to find such love and happiness after such a short time since my whole life was pulled out from under me & taken away? This is just as hard for my brain to comprehend as is the fact that my husband is no longer alive.

For me, the options have always been very simple: keep going or give up. I, apparently, am incapable of giving up, so keep going I did. And as the days ticked by I found more and more that I wanted to keep going for. And as I found more and more things to want to live for, I have found myself living this whole other life. A life I could never, not in my wildest dreams, have imagined would have been my life. For this I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude, but at the same time I feel an overwhelming sense of loss, almost moreso than when I just felt the pain of grief. You see, each day I get to have this new life, I am reminded of what the price was that I paid to get it. I cannot say if it is worth it or not, because it is just not something you can judge in that way, all I can do is be thankful that I have found the phoenix within the ashes of my former life.

And yet.....

Sometimes I worry about what the future will hold. For knowing what the pain of losing feels like, I sometimes ache thinking about experiencing that pain again. I sometimes want to desperately hold on to the moment and never let go. I can hope that I won't have to face this for a long, long time, but deep down I know that there is no guarentee. Everything can change in a single moment. So as happy as I am to have found my new life, and my new reason for living, it is precisely these things that bring me the most anxiety and fear, knowing that I could lose it all over again in a second. 

Lately I have found myself reminiscing again. I have been packing..... packing to move again. And I am finally forced to confront some of the really hard decisions I did not want to make before, about what to keep and what to get rid of. What is left is the hardest stuff to confront-- neither fully sentimental, nor fully expendable, I have a lot of stuff that falls into this neither world of memories. It is stuff that reminds me of another moment in time, another life.... and yet the memory only exists in my head. Part of why I wanted to start writing this stuff down is that I often think about all these memories I have of my husband, and how I am the only person on earth that had those moments with him. And if I don't share them, then one day they will be gone, and so will the memories of him during the last few years of his life. For example, each piece of furniture I own, things we bought together, holds a memory. I remember picking the stuff out, or the trips to Ikea, or how he hauled the 150 lb. box up the stairs to our apartment in Brooklyn, or when we picked out the love seat while making our wedding registry, or that he died, on just that spot on our futon and how I can't bear to let go of the last place on earth he touched while alive.....

It really feels like I am living a deceitful, double life sometimes. Holding onto these memories, and keeping them close to me. Close to the point that I can't help but get choked up as I type this..... all the while falling in love with another man, and planning a new life with him. Sometimes I don't know how I can do it, and other times I don't know how he can--- how he can put up with someone that harbors these inner feelings and memories of another man, of another life. I love him more than I ever knew I was capable of, and yet..... would I give it all up for a chance to go back? Honestly, at this point I would say probably not. For whatever I used to want my life to be, and for whoever I used to be..... it is no more. I have made peace with that. I like who I have become better than who I used to be, and by that measure I feel my life now is more than it ever could have been before. That is not my husband's fault, nor even mine, it just is what it is and it is only because of the price I had to pay to be here. You see, for me, I had to lose it all in order to know when it was I had it all, and in order to most recognize how rare and precious what I now have is when it walked back into my life.

The next chapter....

There are certain phrases in my new life that irk me. One of those is how we as grievers are expected to find things such as: "closure" or "acceptance." And we are expected to follow some neat little path until we reach these things. Then we are told that we should "move on," but just as long as we don't do that too quickly or before the other people in our lives are ready.

Moving on. What does that even mean? Am I supposed to suddenly wake up one day and forget that I was married? Should I pretend that my husband never existed? I think these ideas are born out of other people's ideas of how they would react if they were in our shoes. For others, I think they are uncomfortable with us around-- we (the widowed) serve as these inconvenient reminders of our mortality. So they dismiss us and our emotions, rather than having to face their own insecurities and fears about death. Some of this does come from people who genuinely care about us, and just want us to be "better," and so they look to make sure we are progressing properly through our grief, or showing signs that they no longer need to be concerned. And of course, the moment we start to date again becomes the ultimate sign that we are now "over it." Whatever the motivation is, however, it is all misguided. There is no "moving on," and there never will be any "closure" or "acceptance." For one thing, as it was in my case, things just ended one day without any warning. There was no good-bye, no last words, or thoughts, or promises, or anything. Not even finding out what happened brought me any comfort beyond knowing that even if I had been around I could not have saved him. So no, I do not feel as if there will ever be any "closure." And furthermore, how am I ever to find a seemingly healthy young man's sudden death "acceptable"?

We do keep moving forward, though.

Grief is an interesting thing.... grieving is indeed a painful process, but it is in fact a process. It is our body's way of healing. But I believe it will always leave a lasting impact. During his life, my husband had to have both of his knees operated on -- nearly 10 years apart, but nevertheless it was the same injury. Both kneecaps had to be reattached, as he tore them off in two separate accidents. I did not know him when he injured his first knee, but helped nurse him through the second surgery and recovery. It was a slow painful process. He was bedridden for almost a month and continued to wear a leg brace beyond that. Slowly he re-learned how to walk, but he was never able to move very well again and his knees remained stiff and sore the rest of his life. No doubt they would have eventually become arthritic if he had lived longer. In addition, he had two identical, lasting scars that ran from the top of both knees to his shins. Reminders of what his body had endured. I have similar scars. The only difference is mine are invisible. They exist within me, buried deep within my heart, mind and soul. And like the physical injury that my husband sustained, mine have left me forever altered. I move, think and act a little different. I am a different person.

Nor does the grieving ever end. I am certain that I won't ever come to a point in my life where I say "well, now I am completely over the untimely death of my husband." No, it will always be with me and I continue to live with it every day.

What I have done, is try to learn about this process and to use it to help change me for the better. It is exactly because of what I have endured that I have become the person I am today. I like to think that I won't repeat my past mistakes, and that I no longer take what I have for granted. I try to always remember that anything we have today can be taken from us tomorrow. I try to live every day in gratitude for what I still have, valuing and loving the people that are still here with me, and honoring those who are gone.

This is far from easy, however. It only becomes more complicated because now I also have chosen to open myself up to someone new. This in no way means that I have suddenly become "better," nor that I no longer grieve for and miss my husband. But it certainly changes things.

I often think that it must be hard, to be in my boyfriend's place. And I am continually amazed with how kind and loving he is, and patient, and how he just accepts that I have this whole past of mine that I keep with me. When I am sad, because I am missing my husband, he does not become jealous, but rather will hold me and hug me and tell me that everything will be ok. And he listens to me as I cry and tell him what it is that I am thinking about that has reminded me of my old life. He lets me keep my husband in my heart, and has accepted that he will always share that with him. So never doubt that there are truly wonderful, and good people out there, and that there are real men left in this world. Because he is the best kind of man you could hope to find -- one that does not try to "prove" himself, but one that lives in a way that demonstrates his love and respect for me every day.

In other ways I also think that Boyfriend has gotten the better deal, or at least the better woman. I no longer find myself upset about trivial things.... those things as wives we are known to constantly nag our husbands about. Not only do I not even care about those things anymore, they don't even register in my brain anymore. I have learned, in the hardest way possible, that in the end there is absolutely only one thing that matters in this world, and that is love. So I make sure never to forget to remind him of it every time I say good-bye, because I never want a day to come where I missed my last opportunity to reaffirm my love for him. This experience has taught me how to quickly hone in on what is important in any given situation, and to sift out the extraneous. I make sure that each day leaves us feeling positive about the interaction we've had with each other, and that I've done my best to remind him how special he is and how much I value him and am grateful to him. You've no idea how easy and rewarding a relationship can be when you make this your focus. If you've not figured this out yet, I sincerely hope you do before having to learn it the hard way, as I have.

The place I find myself having the most difficulty, however, is my attempt to blend and balance the two parts of me. The part of me that was a wife, and the part of me that is now a girlfriend. I want to make sure that Boyfriend knows that he is the most important person in this present life of mine, and my future one, because he is my here & now. He needs to be put first in my life, even though he has come second. In our most intimate of relationships we all need to feel like and know that we are the most important person in the other person's eyes, so it is only right that I do so. This does not mean I forget my husband, nor does it mean that I will ever stop loving him, but I have come to terms with the fact that he is gone and will never be coming back. So I try to walk this fine line, but I always worry that I will upset someone. Mostly I worry about the extended families -- which is ridiculous if you think about it, because I find myself worried more about them than either myself or Boyfriend at times.  But I do. I worry if I show too much happiness, or move too quickly, or have too much fun, or express too many feelings about Boyfriend, then my husband's family or friends will be hurt or mad at me. Then I worry that if I accidentally talk about my husband in front of Boyfriend's family that they will think I am not ready for a relationship, or just using Boyfriend, or could wind up hurting him, and that this will upset them, just as I am trying to get to know them and them me. Then I worry that my own family will think that somehow one or more of my relationships should not be taken seriously, or that somehow one or the other "doesn't count" as much as the other. And in my life, I am surrounded by examples of long marriages.... and so by comparison feel inadequate not even making it to 3 years, even though this was not my choice. And sometimes feel pangs of jealousy that in my reality, even if the best happens, I will never have an opportunity to share a 50th anniversary like my in-laws did because I am now too old to expect I have that kind of time ahead of me. And if that is not enough, I then have all the normal worries you would expect from a new relationship. So, not too much pressure on me or anything.

I am aware that I put a lot of this on myself, and that no one (to date) has actually said anything (though, I could not tell you what they privately think about my decisions). I guess the sensitivity comes from some of the things I went through early in my grief, and my hyper-awareness of other's feelings and wanting it all to mesh somehow. I worry that there will come a time in the future where one or more facets of my life won't be able to deal with the complications anymore, and I worry about any fall-out from that.

I don't honestly know what my husband would think of all this. We never discussed our eventual deaths while he was alive..... I did not even know what his final wishes were, leaving me to fumble my way through my lame attempts to "do the right thing." In so many ways I feel like I failed completely. I feel like I not only failed him, but that I failed myself. I've done the best that I can to pick myself back up and make amends. I fear that it will never be enough. The only thing I can do, is to make sure I do not ever repeat the same mistakes in life. I do not know what happens to us when we die -- where we go, what we think or feel, or even if there is an anything out there beyond. I hope there is, but I don't think any of us knows for certain (no matter what our faith or beliefs tell us), and can't know until it is our time. I'd like to think that there is a place of unlimited love and understanding -- so that wherever he is now, he is able to be happy that I can go on and make a new life for myself. I'd want him to do the same if our places were switched. And someday -- though I pray with my everything that it is many, many, many years from now -- when I must face a second loss, or perhaps it will be my turn, I wish for there to be the same for whichever one of us is left. And that above all, we can hold on to that one thing that matters in this world..... love.

Mile Marker 22

So I made the trip again -- the one back to my home state. This time I was not alone, I had boyfriend with me. The last time I made the trip I did it in a crazy whirlwind of emotion and shock, just months after my husband's death. I have no idea what I was attempting to do, but I rented a car and made the 15 hour drive in one day, had an awful weekend back home feeling like my friends, family and the world had abandoned me. I then turned around and drove back in a day -- sobbing most of the way home. I needed to make some new memories to wipe out the ones from that trip.

To me, I think I hold the idea of what this trip means because it was the last one I made with my husband. We went back over Christmas time in late 2009. We were just finishing up a year that we had moved from NY to the DC area, and I had started a new job. It had been a chaotic time, and we had not been back to our mutual home state for over a year. We wanted to go back and visit family & friends. It was a nice trip back & in retrospect I was glad that we had the time there that we did. He actually spent the majority of  the time reconnecting with old friends. I am glad he was able to. I think, though we did not know it at the time, it was also his good-bye to many of those people.

But to me, the part of trip that I ascribe the most meaning to was the trip back home to DC. In my own head I often just refer to this time as "the beginning of the end." Looking back, those few weeks leading up to his death were as foreboding as anything you could make up. It all started at mile marker 22, on the Ohio turnpike. Why this sign is seared into my brain, I don't know, but it is there as plain as it was when it happened. That is where our car began to overheat. We drove on for a bit, thinking it was not so bad & we were so close to an exit that we could just make it off the road & into a garage.....

Then the engine started to smoke, forcing us to pull over on the side of the road -- quite literally in view of the exit sign, but too far away to make it. My first instinct, of course, was to panic. "What the H*** do we do now?" I thought. A much calmer-in-the-face-of-danger type, my husband got out to see what the problem was. It was bad, there looked like a cracked hose of some sort & liquid coolant was spewing all over the engine. We needed a tow truck, it was freezing cold, we had nowhere to go, and did I mention our black lab was also in the car with us? Oh, and we were also broke at the time. I mean totally broke. We had just enough money for gas and tolls to get us home & that was it. How were we going to fix the car?

Eventually a trooper came up behind us and assisted us in calling a tow truck. The driver towed our car, at my husband's request, to a car parts store -- in hopes we could fix the thing ourselves. Well, that he could anyway. As we were driven along to the nearest exit, a great revelation hit me -- I knew where we were. We were literally just a few miles away from where my mother's family lived in Ohio. This became a very important thing, because as it turned out not only did we have a cracked hose, but a blown head gasket. The whole engine would ultimately need to be replaced. What we did first was call my uncle, who came and rescued us and took us to my grandmother's house. She then called a friend of hers who worked on cars. My husband and this guy then spent the next week (yes, week) trying to fix the heap of junk that was our car. After it became apparent they couldn't, we took it to a dealer who then made a deal with us to get the engine replaced at a much cheaper cost than it should, and much cheaper than we could get a new car for, so out of desperation we took it. Big. Freaking. Mistake.

So, now on borrowed money we got a rental car, and husband drove me 9 hours overnight so I could make it to work the next morning. He then drove back to Ohio to wait for our car. This took another week. Only then did he finally make it home. We spent the next week in crisis mode, trying to figure out how to pay for everything and develop a plan to keep ourselves afloat for the next month or so, as he was waiting for a new contract to come through and would not have any additional money until then.

The following week started off as any other week. On Tuesday I made some spaghetti and meatballs. We shared our first relaxing night alone after the whole ordeal, watching TV and eating dinner together. He went to work (in our basement) when I went to sleep (a normal routine for us, as he always preferred working third shift). All I remember about Wednesday morning is that I was rushing around and almost missed my train to work, so the last words I said to him were "I'm late," as I ran out of the car. I didn't even bother saying good-bye, let alone giving him my usual good-bye kiss. I got the phone call from the ER about 6 hours later.

I made the trip back just a few days later, with my mother, who had flown out two nights night before to come help me figure out what to do. I do not remember this trip at all. I eventually made the return trip with my Dad, after we had buried my husband. Then a few short months later I made my crazy-assed trip out on my own, with my dog.

This one needed to be different. I needed to be healed. It was almost as if I was looking for redemption for a road trip I will likely need to make fairly often in my life, as I find myself more and more settled in my new home state.

I don't have so many old friends to visit, as they have all drifted off. I don't have so much in the way of husband's family or friends either, save for a couple I have managed to stay in contact with. So my obligations are few -- family mostly. The rest of the time I am free to decide who I want to see, what I want to do, and where I want to visit. A far cry from the crazy times I would be here with husband and he would have what seemed like hundreds of people to visit, and too many places to go in the few short days we would visit. The pace now is more leisurely.... more serene.

I wanted boyfriend to see where I came from. I wanted him to meet the rest of my family. To meet a bunch of other people who shared my past, and my funny accent. This is what I am missing in my new life, especially around here, a connection to that person I used to be. That person I lost somewhere on the Ohio turnpike, around mile marker 22.

The DGI

As you will no doubt discover, one of the ways I made it to where I am now is by reaching out and finding people I could relate to -- other young widows. I did spend some time in in-person support groups & going to counseling, but the largest community of similar people I found has been through various online forums/groups. For one thing, widowed people in general are a small subset of society (ironic, considering that anyone who marries has the potential of becoming one if divorce doesn't happen first). But as you get younger in age, you find fewer and fewer people. For example, for me to be widowed at age 29, I was in a statistical group that was less than 1% of all people in my age category. So the odds of finding even one, let alone hundreds of other young widows in my real life seemed remote indeed. Through the marvels of the internet we are able to find each other & connect in ways that would have never been possible before. I sometimes marvel at what people did back before there was such an easy way to connect with people.

Well amongst this group of "people who get it" we have a (probably seems somewhat rude to people outside of our group) way of referring to the insensitive world around us -- DGI  (Don't get it). I think at times we scream out about the DGI's as if they are these horrible people who derive pleasure from causing us so much pain. But what I think they really are, are just ordinary people who have never experienced a close, personal loss,* and so they really "don't get it." But they can't. At least not yet. Honestly, no matter how much people around us seem so oblivious to our pain, there is no way I would want them to get it -- because in order to you have to also experience the pain and loss that we do. After all, I was a DGI for 29 years of my life. I'd like to think I treated people with sensitivity, but how do I know? How could I? So it is fairly unreasonable to expect others around us to always get it.

Not to say I think people get a free pass on being assholes. Or to be so oblivious to people around them they lack any empathy for how their words & actions may effect someone. But I do think perhaps we need to cut some people a little slack.

Early on, every little thing hurt. Each insensitive remark cut through my entire being like a knife, making my body hurt and bleed from within.

"He is better now in heaven/ with God/ not in pain / etc."

"You are still young, you can find someone else."

"Well, you were only married 2 years, it's not like you were together for 20."

"At least you didn't have kids."

"At least he didn't suffer."

I could go on, and on and on. And if I asked any of my widowed friends to chime in, the list of things people say to us may horrify you.

But as you go on, these things sting less and less. Yes, they are still upsetting. And sometimes they downright hurt. But you are able to let things roll off more easily... they don't set you into a downward spiral of grief. I think part of this is the healing process. Your early grief is raw, emotional. I remember walking through the world like I was an observer, not really a part of it. I would look at people around me in disbelief that they were just going about their daily lives. I wanted to shake them and scream "Don't you know? Don't you know that my world has ended?!?" But they don't. And as you start to realize this, is when you realize that your grief is starting to become less fresh. There is no timeline for this, and each person experiences these things at their own pace, but for healing to really happen, this will have to occur at some point. You start to notice other things too, like the ability to be happy for other people again, and not jealous that there life is going on while yours has just ended. It doesn't mean you are "over it" or have "moved on." It just means you are healing, and that the raw, emotional pain has subsided. The grief will probably always be there, though, to some degree the rest of your life. Rose Kennedy once said it best: "It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."

And sometimes people find just the right words that cut like a knife, sending you back to that dark, spiraling place of grief -- and even if you know how to deal with it, and you can recover more quickly than those early days.... when they find just those right words, it still stings like it did the first time you heard someone say something insensitive -- this is why we call them DGIs. And yes, it is sometimes a label given out of spite, but some people deserve it.

"You know.....," said the loudmouth in my office this morning, "Sometimes people just drop dead. And sometimes this happens to young people too."

Some of us will never need a reminder of this fact.




*By close and personal, I mean losing someone who dominates your everyday life. I hate the "grief wars" that go on sometimes -- the "my pain is worse than your pain" syndrome, because we all feel losses and grieve people we love and care about, but I do believe there is a difference between, for example, losing a grandparent vs. losing a child, spouse, etc. The reason I see a difference is the impact on your day to day life. If you lose a parent (as an adult), I have no doubt you are devastated. And grieve. But the way you live your life, the things you do from morning until night are not completely torn apart and taken away from you like happens when you lose someone you live with.

Live, Laugh, Love

"We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust our sails." ~Bertha Calloway

I've decided to start a blog.

I've had the urge to share my story for some time now, but was not sure what format or media I wanted to use to get it out. A blog seemed like a good idea -- it will let me ramble in an informal manner. I also don't have to follow any rules about organization or order. I am not sure what exactly I hope to achieve by this endeavor, other than getting the many thoughts, that often race through my brain, out. Perhaps this is my own cheap therapy, of which I will inflict upon whoever happens to see this. Perhaps I will serve as a voice out there someone else can relate to. Perhaps no one but me will ever bother to read what I write. I am not sure it really matters.

But I should introduce myself first.

I am 31 years old and I am a widow. My husband of just over 2 years died January 27, 2010. I don't know what time, I was at work. I did not find out until several hours later and by then he had been moved to the morgue where his body was allowed to turn cold and stiff. I never said a proper good-bye.

That was how it ended.

It began much differently, over 10 years now, and several states from where I currently live. Back when I had just moved out of my parent's house & had just started college. I was a 19 year old kid, who at the time was certain I had life figured out, but more than anything was pretty naive, young and confused. But it didn't matter. I was at that perfect age where you had limitless freedom, endless idealism, and a core belief that you could do whatever you set your mind to do. The only problem was that when one tends to have those beliefs, one rarely has a paycheck to fund any great endeavors. So I worked a menial job as a cashier in a grocery store. It barely paid rent & I spent a good year living on ramen noodles, but at the time it didn't seem to matter. It was during that period that I first met Mike.

He worked at that same store, just for the briefest of moments. We sort of talked to each other on breaks, but it was nothing memorable (as in, I don't remember anything we talked about). He was older than me, and done with college, but not yet employed doing anything in his field (industrial design). I don't even remember being that impressed with him, other than feeling a strange connection and desire to be friends with this super friendly guy who always smiled at me. We spend the next two years running into each other off and on around the side of town we both lived on & hung out in. It was that part of town populated by coffee shops and bars, and the residents were either college kids, burnouts, or ex-hippies that had never really outgrown the 60's. And yet, this is the place where I spend some of the best years of my life, and the place that ultimately drew us together. I don't even know what changed, but after this long period of superficial meetings and spending time in mutual hang-outs we all of a sudden decided to take a leap of faith. I gave him my number at the end of a night of driving aimlessly around town, not really sure if he would ever call. Well he did. And one thing led to another -- although not really very quickly. Just as our friendship was slow to evolve into a relationship, our relationship was slow to evolve into a life. A life I thought I had planned out with just the right amount of care and abandon that would lead to a life I wanted to live.

College eventually became graduate school. And Mike & I eventually moved in together. After finishing with my double-masters degrees we moved to NYC to pursue the dreams we both had that would be forever suffocated in the little upper-midwest city we lived in. We were married in September of 2007.

Looking back, that was probably the high-point. I lost my well-paying job in late 2008 & was forced into some low-paying work in Long Island that had me making an 2 hour commute each way. But in early 2009 I had an opportunity for a decent job working for the federal government in DC, so we made the decision to cash in the rest of our savings and take another leap of faith in a new city. Things seemed to be looking up, but after so much time of unemployment, underemployment, and set back after set back, we found ourselves scraping bottom, just hanging on for survival. And yet, we were hopeful. We were hopeful that after a really bad bout of bad luck, that opportunities were on the horizon that would finally allow us to dig out of the pit we were in, and get back to the life we wanted to live.

And then in a moment........ it was all taken from me.

I later learned that he died from what was discovered to be an enlarged heart, probably genetic, and probably little we could have done to prevent it. Yet, racked with guilt over the years we lived without access to medical care and the constant stress our financial problems put us in, it took me a long time to forgive myself for his death. There are times when I am not sure I have fully forgiven myself.

I sort of exist in a weird place now where my past, present and future often co-mingle. Although I feel I have gotten through the darkest days of my grief, it is still there.... like a quiet shadow in the night, that will still jump out and surprise you when you least expect it.

I have done a lot to get through this period of my life, and have moved forward in ways I never would have foreseen. My old life abruptly pulled out from under me, I was forced to find a new life and a new future, or be pulled down in the undercurrent. In many ways I live now a life that is richer, fuller and more full of love than anything my old life was capable of. Death has a way of turning your world inside out and upside down in ways you cannot even imagine until you experience close loss in your own life. I live now in a way that I am fully aware that this is all just borrowed time, borrowed life, and borrowed love. It will eventually all come to an end once again. It is because I now live in this world, with full awareness of the fragility and preciousness of it, that I am able to fully embrace life and new love in ways I was never capable of before. I hope that these are ideas I can share more of in future posts.

I have several items in my house with have an oft used quote: "Dance as though no one is watching, love as though you have never loved before, sing as though no one can hear you, live as though heaven is on earth." The overuse of this quote can take away the impact of it, but for me it reminds me that the most important thing we can do to honor those who we have loved and lost, is to go on and love some more. Maybe that is all I am trying to do. Love my new love and through this new life I now embrace, honor the past that I shared with Mike.

So now hoping that anyone who reads this can figure out how to "live, laugh and love," I will end by saying welcome to my new blog and through it, my new world.

On our honeymoon in London, Oct. 2007

~Ann