Ceremony

This post has taken me so long to be able to write. I have never told anyone about this event before now and I think I would just let it be a memory except for the fact that my kids may not remember without me writing it down. So here it is:

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Back in October, on a bright, beautiful, sunny day, I had what the kids and I called a "ceremony for daddy". It was just the three of us.

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The intention of this ceremony was to give my children a more formal way of honoring their father. I had each of them write letters to Joe....Alyssa told me what to write and Luke wrote his own letter. In Alyssa's letter she said over and over that she missed him and that she missed cuddling with him and having him read her books. She said she wanted him to come back. Luke's letter was about wanting to play his video games with his dad again and play baseball. He also wrote many times that he missed him and told him his first grade teacher's name and that we went apple picking.

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We blew up balloons with a helium tank and brought the cd player out to the corner of the yard where the tree is that I planted for him. Each of the kids chose a song to play at the ceremony. Luke chose "Life is a Highway" and Alyssa chose "Sweet Escape".

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Alyssa and Luke sat on the stone wall and listened to the songs. When they were done, Luke read his letter out loud. Then Alyssa tried to "read" her's from memory, but Luke ended up reading it for her. Both of my kids read and said the words with no problem, without any tears. My heart was in agony at the sight of them.

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When they were done I read my (short) letter too. I read one sentence then looked up from my paper at my two kids standing there looking at me and I started to cry. My poor kids. They just looked at me and listened as I got the words out through my tears. Looking back at it I wonder how I stood at the funeral before hundreds of people and did not shed a tear. But in my back yard looking at these two 3-foot tall little children I could barely contain myself.

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After that was done we tied the letters to the balloons and sent them off, high into the sky.

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Below are some pictures from that day-

No comments please.

Many times in the last month when I've thought about Joe I have thought "how could I have been so STUPID to have loved this guy so much?". I know I have probably brought his idea up before in earlier posts, though I can't remember specifically. However, this theme has been on my mind lately. I actually think, and have said to a few people, that I pity anybody I am with in the future because I feel like I will never love again the way I loved Joe.

And that is absolutely 100% true. Because I am a different Robin, and there is no more Joe, so that love as it existed 9 months ago, is gone. God help me.

This loss has made me cynical, untrusting, and broken inside. As if all of you didn't already know that.

I understand the concept that the reason why I hurt so badly is because I loved so much...I get that risk/reward relationship. But I've got to admit that I've tinkered around with the idea of having a future that included a husband--minus the deep love-- that just got me through the years until I am done on this earth.

But who am I kidding? That's not me.

Those thoughts are from the grief-stricken haze that I live in now. I've got to constantly and consciously remind myself that my future is made up of a million choices along the way, and I have to let hope guide me.

So I would like to choose to add to the statement above:

"This loss has made me cynical, untrusting, and broken inside. Temporarily."

Right now that statement feels like a lie, but I will have hope that it's truth.

How things have changed

I never ever drive down the road where the accident occurred. If you know the area, you understand what this means. The scene is 4.5 miles from my house on a road that I used to travel on every time I left my house. I have an alternate route but it is longer and definitely out of the way when going to a lot of places that I go. The last time I went that way was probably in November, and I wasn't driving.

At first I thought I had to get used to it and just go that way. Now I realize it's too painful to do that, and what's the point of forcing myself?

I made a huge mistake tonight.

I searched online for Joe's name, which I do sometimes to see if there are any new things written about Joe, the accident, etc.

I came across a website on which someone had posted the original article from the newspaper about the accident and then later the article about the lawsuit. I read the comments from people (motorcyclists) and some of them were basically saying things that bothered me. I posted a comment to the site clearing up some of the confusion about the actual place the accident occurred and also stated that people should not be judgemental in situations like this since all details are not printed in newspaper articles. In the comment I said that I was the widow involved.

There were two comments posted below mine (which I have since removed) and one of them actually said that it appears as though I am trying to proft from the death of my husband, and that "money will not help my children" or something to that extent.

I am very upset. In addition the guy said, "It appears as if you think your husband's life is worth about $3.5million, did you think that before the accident? ie: was there a $3.5million life insurance policy?"

When I read that I was enraged. I deleted my post because I felt like there is just no need to explain myself to people, and to even try would be a mistake. I knew there are people out there that think this stuff who don't know me, but to see it there in black and white, said right to me, was bad. Obviously this guy thinks 3.5million is a lot of money.....and guess what normally it is...but NO, SIR, MY HUSBAND WAS NOT WORTH 3.5MILLION. HIS LIFE WAS NOT WORTH ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY. This guy actually thinks that I THINK that any amount of money would make a dent the pain felt by myself and my children. To say to me, "IT APPEARS ON THE SURFACE AS IF YOU ARE TRYING TO PROFIT FROM THE DEATH OF YOUR HUSBAND".

This is just so wrong on so many levels. I don't even know what to do with myself after reading that. I should have never even posted anything. That was a mistake.

Comfort

In my grief counseling group the question was asked "What gives you comfort?". The first word that popped into my head was "nothing". The reason is that I live with this grief every day. I know that in other deaths that I have experienced I could kind of put it aside for a while and think about something else. But I am home all day with Alyssa and Luke, and yes, I keep very busy but it's just always there with me. I do my thing, take care of the kids, and go to bed alone every night. There is no escaping this for me.

But then I realized that I wasn't really listening to the question. I was hearing "what makes this better?" and obviously nothing makes this any better for me, hence my answer of "nothing". So I gave the question another chance and thought some more about it.

"What gives me comfort? I have to say that obviously I am comforted to an extent in that I have so many people that love me and my children. I know that at any given moment I can call any one of many people and they would come and help me with whatever I need. Specifically I find a lot of comfort from my friend Jamie.

I have known Jamie since the 6th grade and she knows pretty much everything about me. She has helped me through many times in my life, as friends do through the years. I lived with her for all of the years between graduating from college and moving in with/marrying Joe. Around the time of the accident I received a tremendous amount of comfort from her and was drawn to be with her. She was here all the time and she continues to be. The thing about Jamie is she is very literal in a sense and makes things seem very simple. I love that about her. She also never misses a chance to make fun of me or laugh at something about me. I love that too. She keeps things light and literal, but she's real and genuine and I know she cares for me deeply. I find a lot of comfort in her.

I also receive a lot of comfort from this blog. There is always a slight nagging feeling in the back of my mind that says "Robin this is too much sadness to convey about yourself" and I do worry a little that some readers who don't know me well will just think I am wallowing in my own sadness. But that's not the case. Anyone who spends time with me knows that I am doing "pretty okay", and I do laugh a lot and smile a lot and I am trying my best at making good decisions. So I continue to be true to this side of myself and I find comfort in that people are sticking with me. When I lay my head on my pillow at night it helps me to know that I am not alone in a sense, that people are thinking of me. Thank you blog readers for providing me that comfort.

This is Grief

When I was in college my "Grammie" died. She was not the first grandparent of mine to die but it was in her death that I feel I experienced my first brush with this thing called grief. I remember being sad, but I also remember months later have a wave of sadness and feeling like I couldn't say anything to my friends at school because they wouldn't understand that my emotion stemmed from a death 3 months ago. How could they understand when just yesterday, and all last week in fact, I was just fine. 15 years later I understand why I felt that way.

When I was 26 my friend Jennifer died. She was like a sister to me. In April she was rushed into emergency surgery to remove a brain tumor that they had just discovered. Before this incident she was the picture of health. She did not drink, smoke, she exercised, meditated, on an on. It was unbelievable. Six months after they did that emergency surgery she died. I saw her health decline, her looks change, her body fail and her mind slip away. I still remember the morning I got the call telling me she was gone. I had visited her the night before at the hospital in Portland and she was in really bad shape. I woke up early...before it was light out and was laying in bed thinking about her. At 7 the phone rang. I knew who it was. All the person said was "Jennifer died this morning". I said "okay" and hung up. There was nothing else to say. It was agonzing, horrible, awful and I just kept thinking how wrong it was that life was continuing outside my window. In the weeks and months ahead I would look up at a blue sky and be brought to tears to think that she couldn't see what a beautiful day it was. I mourned that she would never get married, have a baby, that she would never see me get married, walk into my first home, play with my children. For years after her death I could not speak her name. I didn't want to talk about her with anyone because words seemed cheap to me. I could not explain to anyone how much she meant to me and when I tried it never seemed to do her justice. For years I could be watching a movie or hear a song and I could burst into tears. When this happened I never had to explain anything to Joe or say anything. He would just hug me tight until I finished crying. That's exactly what I needed.

When my Bumpa died he was 93. I remember not being upset about his death. I was sad, yes, especially for my parents and my aunts and uncle. But since it happened so soon after Jennifer's death, I remember thinking that "THIS is how death should happen....after 93 years of living".

These previous experiences (and others) have affected me in the loss of my husband. This time it is different for sure. Every entry on this blog so far has shown what grief looks like for me. I am talking about these things because I find it crazy that in a world where everyone dies, no one talks about how to cope with loss, and how different it is each time it happens.

How things have changed

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At least once per week I dream/fantasize about buying an RV, packing up my kids and driving off into the sunset.
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Grandparents: Remove your hands from your chest, I'm not going anywhere.

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These last days have been bad, bad, bad. I am just so angry to be in the situation that I am in, on so many levels. Then I feel guilty to some extent because I have so much to be thankful for.

Tonight I was talking to someone on the phone in a somewhat lighthearted conversation and I said...."I was at a birthday party today with a magician"....then I said...."while I was watching his tricks all I kept thinking was "can you make me disappear"'. I couldn't even believe that I said it out loud and it was also kind of inappropriate considering I don't know the person I was talking to very well.

Oh well.

How things have changed

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The last thing that I do when I say goodnight to my kids is kiss them. I used to kiss them once, now I kiss them twice. Once for me and once for Joe.
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Does anyone remember me?

Right after the accident I remember asking friends that knew me before I ever met Joe, if they thought I could get through this loss. I felt the pull towards these people because I felt like I needed them to remind me that I was a fully-functional, happy person before ever meeting Joe.
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Often nowadays I sit and think sometime of who I was then. I met Joe when I was 23. As I have said before on this blog I have always felt that I have lived a blessed life...blessed with family, friends, love, opportunities, a drive to work hard, and a general sense that life is good.
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I have known for some time that when I married and had children with Joe, I allowed a part of my personality to take a back seat. I fully took on the role of "the responsible one" since I was always somewhat responsible and since there was no sign that Joe was going to take on that role. I smile as I write that, and I mean no disrespect to my husband, but we all know that if there was a good time to be had, Joe was going to have it. I am okay with that now.
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Last night at my griefshare meeting we were talking about what are called "secondary losses" that need to be grieved when you lose a loved one. They are basically roles that the person fills in your life (ex. companion/confidant/cook/mechanic, etc etc). There was a list of them in a book and the question was asked if there was anything to add to the list. I added "fun". Joe was my fun, and it is missing from my life. I am grieving that loss.
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I wish I had never let go of that piece of myself.
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How things have changed

(Obviously my life is different now than it was 8 months ago. From time to time I will write things here that have changed for me and my children).
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When I read the newspaper I stop at the obituary section and scan the names and ages to make sure everyone was "old enough" to die. When I find someone that died young, I read the obituary to find out why. I think of the family and what they must be going through.
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I also find myself fixated on pictures of newly engaged couples or recently married couples. I look at their faces and how happy they look and wonder what is in store for them.
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I never used to glance twice at either of these sections.
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