Left

2011-06-08T16:57:00.007-04:00

A widow friend of mine posted the poem below on her blog a while back. I remember reading this poem a long, long time ago and liking it a lot. I was probably early twenties at the time. I thought I understood it then. I did not. Not the way I do now.

Comes The Dawn
Veronica A. Shoffstall, 1971

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn...
With every goodbye you learn.

I really can't read that without having tears come to my eyes. My life has changed so much in the last 4 years. I have had many ups and downs, many steps forward and many steps backward. I honestly cannot believe how much time has passed, how my kids have changed, how I have changed. I can't believe how our lives have continued on, the things we have done, without Joe with us. I have made new friends who I love dearly, who I can't imagine my life without. Not a day goes by when I don't look at one of my kids and think how Joe would love to see them as they are now. Every new step I take without him, every big decision, every small one that I know he'd be involved with, feels like a step away from him and I hate it still. Yet at the same time there is no other way. I never talk about all the things swirling in my head, because I know it is impossible for anyone to understand, and I can't explain things with the depth that they feel to me. But it's still always in there, and probably always will be.

I know that my "self" as I knew her, died that day with Joe. All of a sudden my whole present and future changed. I was going to grow old with this man. We were going to raise our babies together and live a life that we planned. All of it was gone in an instant. The moment I saw that motorcycle on the ground a new person was born. I am still navigating a life that I never dreamed of, with all its ups and downs, greatness and sadness, and learning about the person I have become; the good parts, the bad parts and everything (new) in between.

2011-05-20T09:38:00.008-04:00

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I read this quote in a book recently and although the book itself was just okay, I have thought about the quote below a thousand times since reading it. The guy is referring to his wife (Mary) who he was once deeply, deeply in love with, but their marriage did not last.

"I carry a tattoo of Mary on my arm that I wear like a badge, a jewel, a wound, a way to remind myself that love and pain, like blood and ink, swim in the same sea." - Scott Weiland

I think the reason why I like these words so much is because they remind me we are all a sum of all that has happened in our lives, and we should not ignore those things, ever. We should not go on and try to forget pain and pretend it never happened. To go on and face the future with hope despite all the hurt in our past, is courageous.

Pain is a reminder, that love is real.

And in my opinion, in the end, love is all there is.

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2011-02-01T20:09:00.003-05:00

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Passed by the door to get to Heaven
Seven trumpets big and bright
You hear it coming in the middle of the night
A caution to the children
Time to turn your crimson white

We’ve all got reservations

Trials will come suddenly
And without explanation
But you were born with goodness
You were born with goodness
Wherever you go now

I’m right behind you
In the light of hope
I’ll be beside you
On that dusty road
And if you get blind, well that’s alright
Wicked winds blow with grace and might
Cling to the ways of my name
When you touch the stone

Break your word over me
Sinking in the quicksand
Break your word
Don’t you see?
You’re breaking me down now

I’m right behind you
In the light of hope
I’ll be beside you on that dusty road
When no one expects you to deny
And no one accepts your reasons why
You cling to the ways of my name
When you touch the stone

No one expects you to deny
And no one accepts your reasons why
You cling to the ways of my name
When you touch the stone
..........................-Brandon Flowers, Right Behind You
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2010-12-13T21:15:00.010-05:00

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Soon after school ended last year, I took my kids to the cemetery for the first time. Luke was 8 and Alyssa, 6. Almost three years since their father died.

I hadn't intended to take them on this particular day, but then I never planned or intended to take them on any day of my choosing. I always knew that we would go by their schedule- when they asked to go there, I would take them.

We were on our way home from somewhere, all of us happy and fooling around in the car. All of a sudden Luke asked "Can we go the cemetery mom?"

My heart sank and I felt like I couldn't breath. My first instinct was to say "No, not today" and I wondered why on earth, how on earth he could be thinking of the cemetery when we were having so much fun....fresh out of school on summer vacation, a gorgeous day, lots of promise for more laughs to come. Then it hit me, of course he would be thinking of his father on this day. Just as I do. Even when things are good, great even, they are just never quite right.

"Yes" I said.

We drove passed our house and up the hill to the cemetery where Joe is buried. I had no idea what I was going to say to my kids, though I had thought of this moment a million times since he died. Suddenly I was at a complete loss for words and could only think to take my next breath.. My kids drive by the cemetery twice a day, every day when they ride the school bus. I have told them there is a bench at their daddy's grave and because of that they know right where it is. My heart breaks to think of them looking out the bus window at where their father is buried. It's just not right.

We drove in and I stopped the car. They both got out and walked straight to the bench and looked down at the name for the first time. There in big letters, their own last name was inscribed:

C H A L I F O U R

I could see the mixture of emotions on both of their faces. As a kid you must not be able to help but think it's kind of neat to see your name written on a beautiful piece of granite, so important-looking and official. Yet somewhere deep down I could tell they were feeling the pain of what it meant to have that name there. Alyssa literally stood quiet for a minute and then skipped off singing to herself, looking at other gravestone and flowers. She was escaping. She had her fill of what this meant to be here and at another time, in another moment, she would process more of this event, but for now, she was done.

I stood there not saying a word, just looking at my kids and their reactions. Luke was looking down at the marker with Joe's name and the date of his birth and his death on it. He looked up at me and I could see the stress in his eyes. He blinked back some tears as he looked at me. I did nothing but look at him, ready for whatever happened next, but having no idea what that would be.

"So how does this work?" he asked. "Daddy's body is down there?" He asked questions he knew the answers to, but he needed to hear me say them.

"Yes Luke, his body is in kind of a fancy box called a coffin buried under here" I knelt down and touched the marker with Joe's name on it. For a moment I felt the strangest dynamic with Luke, no longer mother and son, but equals, two souls facing extreme pain in loss. I felt like a child in some way, knowing all the logistical details but having no real, concrete answers for many of the questions death presents. I looked at Luke wanting so badly to do right by him, to be strong and answer his questions. I have no idea what it is like for him or for Alyssa or any child who has lost a parent. I just try my best to watch and help them through their grief as best I can.

"Can he hear what we're saying?"

"His body doesn't work anymore. His ears don't work and he's not alive, so no, he can't hear what we're saying from down there." I answered.

"Wouldn't it be cool if we could just go down there and open it up and say "Hi daddy" and he would be there?"

I knew what he was saying. Wouldn't it be great if he were still alive. If we could see him, talk to him, if he was still here, with us. I half-smiled at Luke and stood up again.

Luke stood there a few more seconds and then looked to his sister. He ran off in her direction to look at other names and dates on more stones.

For now, he was done.
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2010-08-25T12:57:00.007-04:00

I started writing this blog after Joe died because I could barely speak a word from my mouth about how I felt inside. My family and friends would ask me how I was doing, or I would see it in their eyes that they wanted to know what they could do for me, but I never knew what to say. I felt at a loss to talk about any subject relating to Joe because words seemed to grossly trivialize my emotions. But I did not want to cut my friends and family off. I needed them. So I did the best I could, here.

In the early days and months LEFT was literally the only way that most people in my life knew what I was thinking about and (generally speaking) how I was feeling. I could write here on my terms (at night, after my kids were in bed) and about subjects that were weighing heavily on me. I cried many, many tears over almost every one of these posts. I have never masked the fact that this blog is 100% about me (however it does not define 100% of who I am). It has been uncomfortable at times for me to write some of the stuff that I have. There is a lot of pain here and it is real. But I tried my best to be as forthcoming as possible with my emotions for many reasons, one of which is because I truly believe that honesty and truth are powerful, and they are the building blocks that someday will set me free to a life less haunted by loss.

The self-centered nature of this blog (like the hundreds of other widow/widower blogs out there) was never questioned by most readers, in fact many thanked me for keeping the line of communication open in some way. They told me that it helped them to grieve too. I do not fully understand why people would want to see so much pain written down (especially by or about someone they love), but I fully realize that is because I am not in their shoes. And I completey respect and am thankful for that and for whatever brings people here. I write from a widow's perspective because that is what I am and that is all I know in terms of this loss.

That being said I have faced criticism for LEFT as well (think "get over it already"; -or- (the absurd) "your husband takes blame in the accident also"). However I know that whether the criticism comes from people who know me or do not, those people face their own demons in life that they will probably always misdirect on others. So I do my best to disregard and keep writing.

After about a year of documenting things here there was an unexpected twist in the healing I recevied from LEFT. Other widows started emailing me about specific posts or about my blog in general. They would thank me for putting into words what they had been unable to. They would tell me their stories and describe similar circumstances to mine. Young widows, all over the country, raising young children alone. Living lives that were thrust upon them suddenly by unthinkable tragedy. People from all walks of life, with an array of family lives, resources, friends and circumstances. Women who lost their spouses to illness, vehicle accidents, work-related accidents, suicide and murder. Every story is heart-wrenching and each email I recieve with one of these stories brings mixed emotions. A kinship of sorts, a bond with another human being that is sincere and real, yet I hate the circumstances that brought us together. I wish they didn't have to write the emails and I wish I wasn't recieving them.

Those emails from widows are a big reason why I have continued to write in the last year. It's not to say that I didn't need to write, because I do. But I have other places in which to write to purge my thoughts. However the relationships with other widows gave me something that I could not get when I wrote in a notebook or on a computer. They made me feel less alone. They let me know that, not only am I not alone, there are MANY people traveling a similar path to mine. You may not see many in your town or maybe a few in a city, but collectively we are many; young widows raising children. A group no one wants to be a part of, but a group nonetheless. When I write posts like this or this, I know that they not only hear what I say but understand it in an intimate way. They do not judge me when I feel angry and there is no need for further explaination when I say things. Once again in life, it is human relationships that are the silver lining to tragic situations.

Recently though, even with the good things that I receive from this blog, I have been considering ending it altogether. It seems I am feeling a little too uncomfortable with being so public about the things that I struggle with or that are on my mind. But all morning I had this aching feeling that I need someone to understand how I feel today. So here I am and to my widowed friends I say:

My youngest child started first grade today.

I know you hear me, and I am so thankful that you are listening.
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Balance

2010-08-19T01:04:00.002-04:00

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In the last two days I have seen three waterfalls with my children, one of which we had a great hike to; showed them several neat things in NH that I loved as a child including the Mount Washington Hotel and the Elephants Head; seen two gorgeous skies at sunset and one beautiful sunrise; kayaked by myself on a peaceful lake; gone for a nice walk with my kids and dog; seen one of my best friends in the world spur-of-the-moment and her 2 funny kids; had supper with my babies at a restaurant; sat and watched them run through fountains in a park; shopped with them at a couple cool stores that we all equally love; we’ve all taken outdoor showers in the beautiful woods of Vermont; sat in a hot tub with my daughter and swam with her in our lake; tossed a toy for my dog to fetch a gazillion times off my sister’s dock; spent time with my mother and father; did a puzzle with my daughter; laughed hard at my son’s wit and sat by a beautiful rocky river with my kids all by ourselves.
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Yeah, our lives are pretty great.
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Stuck

2010-08-09T10:16:00.002-04:00

I wonder if anyone could possibly understand the mind of a 38-year-old widow with 2 little kids. That is not a statement of self-pity and I am not looking for praise. I know as I write it that any person could write the same sentence about their own life (fill in the blanks "...the mind of a X-year-old X with X...") I know that life is hard for everyone and every person has their struggles. For the first time in my life when I look at my face in the mirror I recognize that I am getting older. It is a conscious thought now, where it never used to be. I can't help but feel that if Joe were here it would matter a little less, because we'd both be in the same boat. I look at my kids and wonder some days how we will ever get through this. The weak moments are hard to acknowledge. My mind wanders to awful places of what would happen to them if something were to happen to me, to my health, or due to an accident or whatever. How could two children endure so much pain? The thought terrorizes my mind. And I know it's useless to worry. Every time my kids and I leave wherever we are to go home I wonder...."What exactly am I going home to?" and I feel empty. I have always loved my house and truly can't imagine not living in it, but I think it is holding me back. I am stuck living a life that was supposed to be but isn't. I wonder if anyone could possibly understand a 38-year-old widow with two little kids. Nope. I don't think so. Why would you want to? It is a self-centered fantasy........a far-away dream....to have someone understand your feelings and listen to your fears and act as if you are not crazy for having them. Someone you don't have to hide from. It's a dream.....of days gone by.

2010-07-30T10:45:00.000-04:00

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Yesterday would have been our 10th wedding anniversary. I am pretty sure that Joe would have wished a pleasant and peaceful day for me and our children; a day to reflect on a beautiful marriage and love out of which two of the sweetest kids on the planet were born.

I am equally sure that if he could have looked down on us yesterday he would have been just as disgusted as I was at our day.

We miss him.
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2010-07-22T22:52:00.011-04:00

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Three years since I saw my husband alive.
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So much time has passed, yet, it could have been yesterday. When will I stop wincing to hear the word "dead"; or be able to remember Joe without feeling pain? When will my mind stop revolving around what "was" instead of what "is". I cannot imagine a day when my life is new, free from feelings of what happened. When will the cycle of feelings of love/hate/anger and guilt stop and just leave me with peace. When will my life be mine again and when will I stop being a widow?
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I cringed once at a grief counselor saying that it takes at least two years to begin to move on. I did not think I could endure the pain for two years. It's been three years and I am still struggling. In some ways things are better and in some ways they are more complicated and just as painful as ever. I still have nights when I go to bed with ice on my eyes in an effort to look normal and hide hours of crying from my kids. And in the morning when they ask me why I look funny I tell them I am tired. I don't want to do it anymore. I want peace.
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Each birthday for one of my children reminds me of how deeply I am still mourning a life that will never be.
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I still have flashbacks of that day and the days that followed, especially this time of year. Horrible, terrible, awful feelings and memories that evoke feelings in me that I cannot explain. I still drive up that hill as I did on that day when I saw the police office directing traffic and I think "this is where my life ended". My life ended that day. In an split second I was changed and a new life began. One that I cannot understand.
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2010-07-02T00:18:00.000-04:00

Spring was always my favorite season. But now........not so much. It is such a difficult time of year for me for so many reasons. First comes the warmer weather and the first days when you hear motorcycles and I can practically feel those people enjoying their first rides of the year. Joe could not wait each year and the first day when the weather even slightly resembled warmth, he was on his bike. I hear the rumble from my house during Spring and I think of him constantly.

Then comes the end-of-year school things; and (gulp) Father's Day. Every year I ask the teachers in advance what they will be doing so I can prepare my kids for what they will do when all the other kids are making something for their dads. This year was no exception. It's difficult to say the least. The barrage of advertisement for Father's Day doesn't help either and I hate wondering what goes through my kids minds when they hear or see them. This year despite our plan on what Alyssa would do in school when the kids were making a Father's Day card (she asked if she could still make one for daddy and put it in her "daddy box"- a box where she keeps things..whatever she wants...that reminds her of her daddy- which I said yes to) things still did not go well. First, after I told her it would be fine to make a card and put it in her daddy box, I felt the need to make sure that she understand that she will not be able to give the card to daddy; in a nutshell, that he is not coming back. As her mother I am constantly listening and watching the tiniest of behaviors in her that might give me a clue as to how she is processing her loss. I think that sometimes she believes or convinces herself that her daddy is just "gone" but he'll be back at some point a long time from now. It may seem mean for me to tell my children that their father is not coming back, but I know that it is the right thing to do. It pains me so much....all of it....from her asking to still make the card for him to me asking her if she understands that she will not be able to give it to him. It all hurts in such a tremendous way that I cannot explain with words. And there is more. When Alyssa came home with her card she said that when the teacher announced the assignment she got up and walked to her and said "but Mrs. Mason I don't have a daddy". As she told me this story she began to cry. I hugged her and told her I was sorry. I didn't know what else to say. My poor daughter. It is impossible to know how many times a mother's heart can break.

In addition to Father's Day there is Motorcycle Week in my state in which tens of thousands of bikes attend. It is a big reminder of Joe not only because of constantly seeing and hearing motorcycles, but also because there are always accidents and many years people lose their lives. When I see pictures on the news of twisted motorcycles laying on pavement or hear the stories of the crashes it brings back a lot of painful memories.

After that there is the hot weather and camp in Vermont. Camp is the last place where I saw my husband alive. The last image I have of him is him with his head tilted up blowing me a kiss as he walked away from me. It is where we spent weekends and vacations in the summer. It has always been hard for me to go there since he died, yet it is what we do in the summer. What else can I do? My kids love it there. LOVE IT. We have family and friends and summer would not be summer without camp. I love it there too, but getting there is hard. Almost three years later it is still hard for me to think of going on vacation and not having Joe come. I should be used to it by now. But there is something about packing up my house and going there that rattles me and makes me have days where I want to lay on the floor and cry. I can't explain it. I wish I didn't have to.

There is also my son's birthday (July 19); the anniversary of Joe's death (July 25th) and our wedding anniversary (July 29). This year we would have been married ten years. In a cruel twist-through no fault of his own- Luke has a countdown posted on the wall to a made-up opening game of his made-up hockey league. He decided his opening game would be on July 29th (I am sure he has no idea as to the significance of the date). So every day he counts down the days until July 29th. Sometimes the universe just sucks. But what can you do.

So, I guess my point here with all this is that this time of year- end of Spring into Summer is a difficult time. Full of so many wonderful and exciting things but also tinged with pain and many reminders of what should've and could've been. And what happened.

Tonight I got a fortune from a fortune cookie that said "Don't waste time on what could have been". I'm trying to understand if that's too crass to take into account in my situation or if it's good advice.

I want to end by saying something on an entirely different note. Although I have all of this "stuff" in my life, the fact that I am tremendously blessed is not lost on me. I know that the life I live is full and rich and privileged in terms of family and friends and love and health and so many other gifts. Although many days I tire of hearing my own voice reprimanding my children, there is no greater pleasure for me than to look at them and see them smiling and laughing and being silly and having fun. I watch them play sometimes and my heart is full- bursting with love for these two little people. I cannot imagine a more beautiful girl than my daughter, with her bold and bossy and aggressive personality, yet her long beautiful hair blowing in the wind like a princess. And to watch Luke be so constantly happy, joking (really joking..like making you laugh out loud because he is so funny) and full of fun is something that I marvel at. To think that this little guy has lost so much, a father who he has real memories of, yet he still lives on happily and bravely is such a beautiful and inspiring thing.

Those two kids make life meaningful. And beautiful. And I love them.
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2010-05-28T16:37:00.001-04:00

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......smack in the middle of may.......
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2010-05-26T23:04:00.001-04:00

I am having a hard time being a single-widowed-mother of young children.

Having young children is challenging for all parents under all different circumstances, I think, right? I just.....I find my patience so lacking and I'm sick of hearing my own voice constantly reprimanding them. Nothing gets done without me spearheading it. No socks get found, no drink gets poured, no meal prepared, no groceries fill the cupboards, no grass gets cut, no schedule followed, on and on. It's endless. I KNOW! I can hear you all thinking, "hey, that's what being a parent is for everyone" and I know that. I am just sick of it at the moment. I'm tired of hearing whining (Alyssa's current favorite tone to use) and I want some stuff to get done without having to beg or explain or ask 10 times. I want to see a little initiative without having to be told everything. I want someone else to pick up a few things for me at the store on their way home (obviously not happening); I want someone else thinking when the grass needs to be cut; or the house needs to be powerwashed, or the deck needs to be built. I'm just so sick of it all. Sick of it. It's stressful. Every moment someone or some*thing* in my life is being neglected. If I am working on a project or doing stuff around my house (constant) I feel guilty for not spending time with my kids. If I am out doing errands while the kids are in school I feel guilty I am not taking my dog for a walk. If I am hanging out with my kids I am neglecting all my chores. It's endless. Endless. A constant cycle of thoughts of what I should be doing and feeling like I never do anything right. It makes me short-tempered and no fun to be around.

So to my babies, I am sorry.

Most days I feel like I am just barely holding everything together. I feel like I should be better at this. I am not working yet still I feel like I can't get my shit together enough to have everything run smoothly. I am stressed and full of guilt. On top of this I am trying to work out my own life, make sense of myself and who I see when I look in the mirror. I get so angry at the state of my life (followed of course by tremendous guilt because I am blessed with so many wonderful people and things). I am angry though that I married a man who only got to live a short life; that my children utter the phrase "I don't have a dad" to new kids they meet (of course despite me telling them the obvious contrary and giving them alternate responses---but they are too young and so are the kids they are talking to to understand any of it); angry that I have to raise my children without their father present in any way; angry that all the responsibility is placed on me. And I feel incapable at times and not up to the challenge because I have issues on my own to work out. I just don't know. I was definitely a work-in-progress before Joe died. My own problems didn't disappear that day. They are all still with me. And on top of them a lot more stuff that needs attention.

2010-05-04T09:21:00.004-04:00

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Today my husband should be celebrating his 40th birthday.
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2010-04-19T10:48:00.004-04:00

Six years ago at this time I was in a hospital room with my husband waiting for our second child to be born. Truthfully, "waiting" doesn't seem to be the right word.....it conjures up a peaceful-type scecario. Giving birth to Alyssa was faaaar from peaceful. I remember wondering what the doctors and nurses could do, short of kill me, to make it all stop. And then she was born. It was fast (relatively speaking) and furious. And then I was alone in the room for a long time.

When Luke was born I had time to admire him with Joe for a few minutes before they took him away to weigh him and clean him up. With Alyssa, I did not even see her, they whisked her away, and then everyone was gone. Everyone. I really didn't think much about it at the time until nurses started coming in and saying "don't worry, everything is fine" which of course made me think "what do you mean, everything is fine"?... So then I was worried. After what I think was over an hour, Joe came back in the room, and soon after that Alyssa did too. She seemed fine and being completely exhausted I didn't focus on what happened during that time until much later. Weeks and months later I would ask Joe what exactly went on during that time and he always got a particular look on his face. The most I ever got out of him was that Alyssa was having trouble breathing and they were trying to clear the fluid from her lungs. But it went on for a long time. There are literally no topics that I can think of that I had trouble getting information out of Joe about. I asked a gazillion questions and he answered all of them. We talked about everything. But this topic was different for some reason and he said very, very little. I could never put my finger on why this topic of conversation felt different or what he might not be telling me. I just will never know.

On this day when Alyssa was born, my heart aches so deeply. For me, Luke and Alyssa's birthdays at a very basic level are 100% about Joe and I. They were born from our love and after 9 months, we were together, bringing them into the world. I feel so desperately sad Joe is not here to see his daughter turn 6. It all hurts. I am envious of parents who watch their kids blow out their candles with nothing but happiness in their hearts. For me there is happiness, yes, and a feeling of gratefulness, yes, but always, always mixed with deep sadness- just below the surface- of what is missing.

I don't know exactly what happened in that room when they took Alyssa away. Only her daddy knows and surely would remember if he were here. He spent her first hour alive with her, as her only parent watching over her.

Alyssa's birthday has been on my mind in another way for quite some time. Ironically, it makes me think of Luke. He had just turned 6 when I sat in front of him and told him that his daddy died. Alyssa's birthday makes me feel so aware of where she is in her childhood developmentally, and where Luke was. She's just a little girl. Luke was just a little boy. What awful news to get as a child. What an understatement. No way to process what they've just been told. No way to make sense of how it will change their lives. No way to even know what they have lost.

We had Alyssa's party and gifts and festivities yesterday. In her mind her birthday is pretty much over, a done deal. But today is truly the day. This morning as she was sitting at the island waiting for her toast, I walked to her and looked at her sweet face for a minute and then said "Happy Birthday". A smile came over her face as she was reminded that today is indeed her "real" special day. After another minute of looking at her I said "I love you". To her it was a fleeting special quiet moment between her and I, and then the rest of the day goes on. For me, something else.
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2010-04-06T19:13:00.013-04:00

And the decades disappear like sinking ships

But we persevere, God gives us hope

But we still fear, what we don't know

The mind is poison.

-The Killers, Dustland Fairytale

(My) face of grief

2010-02-18T09:12:00.004-05:00

This picture is from about 7 months after Joe died. Every now and then I come across it and I find it hard to stop looking at it.

It brings me back to days when I sat alone and stared for hours, just like this. Not able to move, not able to make any sense of the thoughts in my head. Extreme pain and sadness and confusion. I see it on my face, even though I am looking away.

I think I find myself staring at this girl because I want to talk to her. I know she would understand everything I had to say. I know she could tell me things that would make sense to me. She lost what I lost. My struggles are her struggles. And together we continue on. Fighting every day to make sense. Of things that will never make sense.

I am checking out of this blog for a while. I know people check in on me and it is much appreciated. I am going through a hard time. Alyssa is going through a hard time. I just feel like all I can do right now is sit and stare....try to figure stuff out. How to get Alyssa through her pain and how to take all three of us to the next level that must (please God) be waiting for us.

Peace out people. Be kind to each other.

2010-02-14T08:48:00.010-05:00

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Valentine's Day is a stupid holiday, everybody knows that. But for some reason this year I want to take off my shoe and throw it through the tv whenever I see two adults on a commercial acting like...all lovey and stuff. I refrain from swearing at them for the sake of my children's innocent ears. Don't mistake my hostility for jealousy, it's more I feel like its a big farce.

Valentine's Day....... you can suck it.

I want a day that's the opposite of Valentine's Day. We'll call it....Eviltine's Day. On this day you get to send a card to the person you hate most. Tell them why you hate them. Actually, send lots of little folded-up cutesy cards......to everyone who pisses you off. Make those little candy hearts say things like "You're an idiot" and "f-you" and "dirtbag". Decorate your house in black and throw darts at a big scroll of marriage vows. Take all your plates to the basement and throw them against the wall, one by one. Ahhh yes.....................Eviltine's Day. I like it!

Why does this sound so much better, more fun to me than a day to spread the love? After all my love love love posts, what do I feel? I feel like........

Love.......... you can suck it too.
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(Big smile after writing this post. Happy Valentine's Day!)

Black

2010-02-06T08:23:00.025-05:00

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When I started this blog I chose black as the background for a few reasons. Obvious ones, like because that's how I felt, my existence was dark.....everything was unknown.....the future seemed overwhelming.....etc. Black of course was the perfect choice. I had this thought though, that as my grief progressed the shade would get lighter and lighter, until eventually....no more black. Back to white...back to color....back to life. It would be kind of a gauge, revealing how I was feeling and making my way through the process.

In over 2 years I have never felt like the time was right to lighten the color. I've thought about it at times.... maybe I could change it to a dark gray or just something ever-so-slight.... Nope. It never felt right.

I have wondered sometimes why I have not felt like I could move that gauge one step closer to "normal".

Absolutely my life has gradually been repairing over the last 2 1/2 years, a process that is still very much evolving. I am a different person than I was 3 years ago, not because I wanted to change, but because at times you have to evolve and adapt or else be defeated by life's hardships. My core is the same though, and my deep desire to live a beautiful and meaningful life (and all that means to me) has never completely left me. I struggled with it early on ("Can I still do this?"......"Is this still possible?") but the fact that I still wanted to do it, still thought about it, was evidence that it still existed inside me. Shattered into a million pieces, but thankfully, still present. It was proof that I really didn't die along with Joe that day (a feeling that I felt for a long time- dead inside but still painfully alive), that I was a person whole and separate from him.

The drive in me to someday live happily again is what has guided me more than anything else through this struggle. It has guided me both through the mundane aspects of life (the day-to-day) and also the deep-thinking type of deliberate choices I make for my life and family as a whole. Lots of times it was just going through the motions....doing stuff just to do stuff. Smiling because it felt the same as anything else my face could do...going places not because I wanted to but just because something was on the schedule. Literally going through the motions. As time passed I started to feel again, be more present and things started to feel less painful or less meaningless. But did things feel "better" enough to change the color here from black to gray?........No.
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Why?

The agony of being a widow with young children is something I would never wish on anyone. It is an excrutiatingly painful existence at times. This is still real and present in my life. I don't clean the bathroom mirror without remembering when my husband hung it....or walk up my front stairs without picturing him building them. The reminders of him being with me are everywhere. I don't watch a movie without tearing up at the sight of a daughter dancing with her father at her wedding; or a son standing shoulder to shoulder with his father. My daughter still cries tears in her sleep at night saying things like "No! Daddy! I miss daddy!" and the endless agony and helplessness I feel when I hear her unconscious pleas still make my body go limp. All of it hurts. Just as much now as the day he died.

My father wrote once to me "I don't think I will ever get over Joe's death". My immediate reaction was- that absolutely must be false. Surely at some point we all would make some type of peace with this.....how could we go on and live and not get over it? I could not understand or accept that statement from him.
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However, as time passed, my father's words began to make sense to me. And I do not believe anymore that it was just his stubborn personality writing those words. They represent the same reason why I can't change the color here to anything other than black.

It is true that life goes on, that people persevere, that things change and that happiness reawakens at some point to most people after coping with death. But it is also true and possible that the pain of grief lives on simultaneously.

The pain that I feel when I think of what happened to Joe still cuts as deep as the day it happened. The feelings I feel when I think of him are as torturous and uncontrolling as they ever were. Nothing has changed in that respect. What has changed is that my life now is not constantly overshadowed by those feelings. I can do things for consecutive hours and not feel the pain. That is an achievement that was once measured in minutes, and has has yet to be measured in days.
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The grief is still there, painfully accessible in that it is always only a thought's distance away. Grief is part of me, but I don't live there anymore.

The color of this blog may always be black. That's ok. What happened to Joe will never cease to be a tragedy. I may never be able to wrap my husbands life up in a package of life lessons, the pain is too close to me. Yet I am thankful that others can learn from his life and live more fully because of him.

I don't think I will ever get over the death of this beautiful man and my beautiful life with him. Grief may always be a piece of my life for the rest of my days.

But I don't live there anymore.
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Love- Part V

2010-02-02T10:29:00.003-05:00

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Based on my previous 4 posts in which I wrote about the love that Joe and I shared, it should be apparent what types of things are important to me in terms of a love relationship. I realize that not all relationships are the same and different things are important to different people. I in no way claim to be writing definitively what real love is or should be to all people, only what a real love is to me.

When I think about the topic of "love" at this point in my life I am pessimistic. I feel like I will not find someone TWICE IN A LIFETIME who will treat me the way I need to be treated in order to be happy. Someone who will respect me the way Joe did. Someone who will be so open with their feelings of love for me the way he was. Someone who was so outgoing and fun the way he was. Someone who will value time with his wife and children the way he did. Someone who will be tolerant of my intolerance with certain topics (disrespect, lying, talking trash about women, etc). Someone who wants a relationship that is not just mediocre. And the baggage! My God the baggage that someone would have to put up with in a relationship with me---the worry I have that people are going to drop dead at any second.....the desperate feelings I have when people are late, that they've been in an accident......the stress I feel every single time I say goodbye to my kids.....the constant fear that something will happen to me and my kids will have to endure another tragedy, which rips my heart to pieces....the ups and downs of my emotions still as I struggle with grief at times....the feeling of-what's the point to doing it all again when it could be lost in an instant-the knowledge of the pain and the risk that loving again means--am I even capable of loving fully now the way I loved before?.....all the STUFF that makes me who I am at this time in my life.

Ha ha, I just read that last paragraph and I laughed out loud at how awful it sounds. Who is this person and how can I get away from her as soon as possible?!!
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I don't want that paragraph to seem like I don't think I am worthy of love. Despite all of the things I pointed out, I know that for everything about me that someone would have to "put up with" there is an equal or greater benefit in return in what I provide to any person I love.

The beautiful thing is that for all of my pessimism in love I feel, I do also feel hope. When Joe died people kept talking about "hope" and I did not know what they were telling me to hope for, I still don't really. There was NO HOPE in his death, because death is final. There is no hope on earth in death. But with love there is hope. At least I have that. Hope that at some point, whether it is tomorrow, or next year or in 5 years, that I am willing to love as fiercely and openly and meaningfully as I once did. With the knowledge of the pain of what it would feel like to lose it in an instant.

I hope and pray to find it in myself to be BRAVE with respect to love. As brave as I have been in other areas of my life.

Now, I realize that I may be jumping the gun to talk about all of this love stuff. That I need to take things one step at a time and see how it goes. I realize that. So, knowing all the things you know about me and how crazy I am, if you are praying for me to be BRAVE, you should also pray for any man I date. He'll need those prayers, maybe more than me :-)
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Love- Part lV

2010-01-29T08:50:00.003-05:00

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As a woman and wife I loved the sides of Joe that I wrote about in my previous 3 posts. However I know that was not the side of him that most people saw. I also loooooved the "public" Joe too, which was every bit as real:

The guy that watched sports in every season. Baseball all spring and summer. Football on Sundays. Hockey all winter. He participated in fantasy leagues and liked to do up the hype for any big sporting event as much as the next guy (yes, we were once those people who bought a big screen tv in preparation for a big game). He snowboarded, played hockey, ice fished, snowmobiled, wakeboarded, played wiffle ball and was out on the field to help with Luke's team when he played t-ball. In other words, if there was a game going on, he was in.

He drank beer most nights (though didn't get drunk most nights) and liked to fall asleep on the couch, remote in hand, tv on a sport-any sport- with his arms folded. His baseball hat would always end up pulled way down until it was covering his face.

He took on many projects around our house. He had no experience in carpentry but always felt like he could figure it out and get it done. He had a tool belt and loved tools. He built decks for us, railings, patios, on and on. None of it was perfect, yet now, all of it is perfect.

He loved to mow the grass slow while drinking a beer or two.

He loved attention. Before we ever had kids I spent many a night sitting on a couch somewhere watching him stand in front of me singing into a broom stick- pretending he was Eddie Vedder- or whoever he was feeling like. He was so funny. Many of you have seen him do this...YOU KNOW ITS TRUE!!!

He loved his motorcycle. As much as it hurts, riding that bike was a true love of his, a true joy. I saw it in him.

He laughed out loud when he watched something on tv or heard a good joke. He'd often slap his leg if he thought something was really funny.

Of course, he loved music.

He was driven. He wanted MORE in life all the time.

He never owned a car as long as I knew him. I knew him for 12 years and he only ever had three vehicles- all pickup trucks. One was purchased less than a year before he died.

He loved to live. He enjoyed life.

When he ate his eye twitched open and closed slightly as his jaw chewed. I noticed this one of our first dates and teased him that his eye was somehow incorrectly wired to his jaw. He claimed he didn't know what I was talking about. The whole time we were married I used this incorrect wiring as my proof that it was really him and not an imposter.

When we went to Hawaii on our honeymoon he wore a shell necklace pretty much the whole time. He liked to participate.

He was in the process of trying to get me to skydive when he died.

He loved to pilot small airplanes but hated flying on jets.

He loved to gamble.

He was a great judge of character.

He was a risk taker.

He was not boastful about his business success.

He rarely ate sweets at home though I often heard of him eating stuff at work that I just couldn't even picture....whoopie pies, or shakes or whatever.

He hated cockroaches. They were his evil nemesis. If he was here right now I would see him scrunch up his face and move as if one crawled up his spine.

He liked to cook.

He was a great guy. He could light up a room simply by walking through the door.

I love you.
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Love- Part lll

2010-01-28T09:23:00.008-05:00

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Appreciation
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Appreciation was a big part of what made our relationship enjoyable. Appreciation, not in just saying "thank you" here and there, but in a real, true and genuine sense. There are about a thousand ways I can think of where appreciation made a difference in our marriage. I will write about a few important ones, particularly for my children, but suffice to say I could not possibly cover this topic here the way it deserves.

First I do need to point out what may seem obvious:

Everyone wants to feel like what they spend their time working on is valued and appreciated, especially by the people they love.

Joe was way more traditional than I am when it came to some things. For one, we went back and forth for pretty much the entire time we were engaged as to whether or not I would take his last name after being married. I basically did not want to. I could not see the logic in why I should take his name any more than why he should take my name- a thought that often elicits laughter from most people, including Joe. In my mind, all of my accomplishments up to that point in my life had been completed by "Robin Lord". I took pride in who I was and why, WHY would I change my name?? In the end, after many discussions with him in which he constantly and repeatedly told me that he wanted me to take his name, I did. Because I loved him, and because it was important to him. I did it 100% for him because that's what you do sometimes when you love someone. And he appreciated it. That appreciation is what has caused me to not regret my choice and feel confident that it was the right thing to do. If he didn't appreciate it, I would have felt forced and resentful.

As I have said before it was important to Joe that I stay home with our kids. This was a constant and ongoing discussion between us the entire time we were married. I have a hard time with it, I still do. Now a disclaimer- I never would EVER say what is right for any family in terms of caring for their chidren and it drives me nuts when people comment on such things. I believe that every woman and family should do what is best for themselves and that in itself is enough of a burden to carry. I do not waver from that opinion.

Although I would never tell anyone else what they should do, like many other mothers ("working" and "stay-at-home") I am given unsolicited opinions all the time about the choice that my husband and I made- they are both opinions in support and against our choice. I have been the recipient of comments that imply that I "wasted" my college education- (seriously, can you pull the knife out of my heart now)- as if somehow since staying home while my kids are young means my professional life is over, also, furthermore implying that what I do with my life currently has no positive bearing on the world. I also repeatedly get a constant stream of comments of how "lucky" I am to not work, assuming that would be aspiration of all women, if they were all given the choice. I have a deep personal negative feeling about that assumption as well. I also hear a constant, constant stream of what I would call put-downs by people who act like, only if you work, are you contributing to society in a positive way. Only then are you are doing something "worth-while". If you stay home with kids, you are doing nothing. In fact, you are living a life being provided for you to which you sail through your easy days while your husband works his butt off. I hear this stuff all the time, it never ends.

I know that there are few people I could have been married to and be a stay-at-home mother.

Joe and I approached our family situation in a very basic way. In order to live the life that we wanted we needed TWO BIG things. We needed MONEY and we needed CHILDREN. All the necessities to living a full life came from those two things. Money provided us food, clothing, shelter, etc. Children provided us with family, love, joy, fun, fulfillment, etc. In a very basic sense we decided how the bulk of our time would be used- Joe would provide the money and I would provide care for our children. We did not treat either contribution- money or childcare- as more important than the other. We knew in order for our life to work the way we wanted, we needed BOTH. From that basic premise we were able to make our situation work, but there was another important ingredient that was necessary to keep us happy and keep us going. It was appreciation for what the other person was providing.

Joe often thanked me for staying home with our kids. More than anyone he knew and understoood what it meant for me to do so. He didn't act like what he was doing at work was more important or that he was 'providing life' for me. We were 'providing life' for each other, and for our family. He would praise me for how well I did and listen to my gripes without judgement or defensiveness. He didn't leave this up to "I thought you knew" he actually said the words to me. "You do such a great job Robin."; "I don't know how you do it."; "Thank you for my children." etc etc. Those types of things are what kept me going. I honestly don't know if I could have done it without those words from him. And I do know for sure that if he hadn't been that kind of husband, if I did continue to stay home, I would have been pissy, resentful, and hateful. And our marriage would have suffered.

On the other side, I also praised Joe for getting out of bed early every day- though most days I had to kick him out :-) For working so hard and for making such a great living. I admired his people skills....and marveled at how he could do his job so well and let all the difficult stuff slide off his back. I congratulated him about the success of the company that he and Derek built when they reached milestones. I constantly reminded him if he got frustrated with money that he was solely supporting a family of four- and look at the life we were living.

I don't want to act like it all worked perfectly all the time. It didn't. There are gray areas and neither of us was perfect. I might have accused him of having a few too many wiffle ball games at work (implying he wasn't working hard) and I am sure that he said things that weren't perfect either (though I can't think of any and if you know of any you don't need to tell me). But the point is that the bulk of the time, I'd say 95% of the time we made the choice to appreciate each other for what we were doing. And I do want to point out that although I was providing the majority of the care for the children, we saw care for them at night and weekends as shared responsibility. In other words, Joe didn't treat me like my "job" never ended yet he still got nights and weekends to himself. Our relationship just wasn't like that. He was a great father and husband. And I appreciated him deeply.

Luke and Alyssa, I hope that when you grow up you find someone who appreciates you. It is powerful and can guide you through the difficult times. It makes life more enjoyable and full. I hope that when you read this you understand that my struggle with staying home started long before you were born. It had nothing to do with who you were as children. It had to do with who I was as a child, what I thought my own life would look like, what my own dreams were. Some day I know you will understand. And I hope that if you struggle too and either of you make the choice to stay home with your babies then you can keep in mind and remember something my mother has told me through these years:

"In the scheme of things, it's only for a short time."

Love- Part ll

2010-01-27T07:38:00.000-05:00

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I said in my last post that the love that Joe and I had was real. I spoke of the foundation of our love which was that we had a deep and genuine desire for each other to be happy.

By real I also mean that it was about and between him and I. Had he not died, you would never have read our words to each other in emails like you do here. You would never have seen the cards he gave me, or the thoughtful gifts, or any of the other meaningful items that were evidence of our love. That is because we did not need the attention or approval or validation of anyone, except each other. We did not try to have the appearance of a relationship to aspire to, in fact, due to the fact that I am a person who must get things off my chest immediately in order to be done with them quickly, many people witnessed our disagreements. Resolving conflict was part of our love. Our relationship was a constant work-in-progress and neither of us ever gave a thought to what anyone else thought of it. It was the tiny acts of kindness that we did for each other. The silly games we played. The teasing. The sacrifices. The working towards the same goals. The trust. The respect. The encouragement. The constant day-in day-out caring for each other. The US. The ONLY US.

I share the things I do here (emails, cards, etc) for two reasons. Neither of those reasons is because I need any praise or validation for my relationship with my husband. No part of it is contrived or written with the intention of creating something that was not, or rewriting history so to speak. I am 100% confident in that. I write this stuff here because I can't talk about love - or grief- without talking about what I am grieving, and talking about the the love I lost is part of that process.

One reason I share this personal stuff is because there is a basic sad fact that if I don't document it I will forget it. I have already forgotten so much, and it pains me. Other widows may relate to that feeling- the realization one day that you are forgetting things you thought you never would. It seems for every step forward in grief, the easing of the day-to-day pain for example, there is a realization of the price you pay for it. Forgetting brings relief in some sense but it also brings a new kind of sadness. I don't want my memories to be gone forever. If I write them down, my mind may forget but I can revisit them as I choose. I don't want to forget what a great relationship is like, and the specific parts that make it great. I don't want to forget what I had and what is possible in life. I don't want to forget what my marriage to Joe was like.

The other reason I share here is because I want my kids to know what their dad was like in many ways, including as a husband. I want them to see his words and have an insight into what kind of man he was in as many aspects as I can show them. I want my son and my daughter to see how a great man treats his wife and family so they can take that into their own lives. One of the biggest things I mourn is that I/we no longer show my young children what a happy, functional, loving husband/wife relationship looks like daily. Ugh. It hurts to even write. I will give my kids many examples of what their father was like and the bulk of that information is private. These posts also provide a slice.
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Love- Part I

2010-01-25T01:01:00.007-05:00

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Love.

Geesh this should be interesting.

Why I am posting about this topic I am not sure, except that I keep hearing tiny inferences to it directed my way in increasing frequency. So I am guessing that either the acceptable amount of time has passed and now people think I should be "moving on" in terms of love (which was blatantly said to me by an aquaintance whom I felt that it was completey inappropriate of him to be telling me any such a thing) or maybe people are worried that I might end up a lonely old lady. I don't know. But anyway, in terms of love, I would have to start at where I came from. This post will be part 1.

If you've read this blog for a while, you would know that the love that Joe and I had for each other was real. When I say real, I mean a few things. First and above all, there was a deep genuine desire for each other to be happy. Notice the underline, this does not work one-way. This does not work when one person repeatedly puts their own needs and wants in front of their partner's. I could not live happily unless I felt that he was truly happy with his life. He felt the same way for me. If I wanted something he always encouraged me, he was always 100% behind me.

A few months before he died this topic was brought to the forefront when a conversation took place in which a husband was complaining directly to Joe about "never getting to do what he wants to do" (which happened to be a week+ long trip somewhere, by himself). He blamed his wife and basically the fact that he had a family for impeding on his own life's desires. I watched this conversation unfold and felt somewhat horrified by it. Joe went along with the conversation basically commenting that yes, a trip like what the guy was describing seemed like it would be fun.

That night I kept having little tidbits squeek back into my head about what that husband had said. It was just wrong on so many levels to me (way too many to delve into here) but it led me to wonder, did my own husband feel the same way? Joe was always talking about things he would like to do, did he also secretly blame me and our kids in some way for the fact that he didn't do them? I could not deal with the thought of my husband, a person whom I loved and respected long before we got married and had kids, not living a life that he wanted. So before 10 or 20 years passed, and he was sitting on a couch somewhere complaining, I figured I would ask him. I sent him an email the next morning with basically one sentence asking him if he felt the same way as that husband did.

He sent me an email back that could have been just "No I don't feel that way" or "I don't know what you're talking about" or whatever. But he didn't. He sent me a long email (which I can't post here because it would be inappropriate to do so) in which he said he did not feel that way but he also said things like:

"Any week long vacations that I have I would rather leave that to enjoy my time with you and the kids"

and (speaking of the type of trip the husband was talking about)

"I guess that’s something that we could do as a family if the kids were older and we were into it.."

and

"I enjoy my time w\ you and the kids and they are not young forever and I would NEVER take that for granted......."

and

"I hope you get the point I am making…So, when he says stuff like that…I let it roll off my back… Even If we had months off, I would rather spend it with my family."

I was surprised at the time he put into his response to me, but I wasn't at the same time. That is the man I fell in love with.

My response back to him is so ironic it just makes me cry. This email exchange is from April 10, 2007, 3 1/2 months before he died.

"I am so glad that you are my husband.

When (husband) says stuff like that it makes me feel like it's MY fault that you "can't" do things that you want to do (especially since he looks right at me when he says it). That is so insane. I feel like we both make many sacrifices and they are first and foremost for our kids first, then each other, and we don't feel the need to complain about the situation all the time because we know why we are doing what we are. I don't feel like I am living the perfect life in terms of doing what I want when I want to, and I am sure that you don't either. But I do feel like my life couldn't get much better than it is.

There are many times in a day when I hug the kids or look at them and think "God please don't change anything" and I know and appreciate the fact that things could change in an instant. If one of the 4 of us got sick, if one of us got into an accident, etc this life that we have now would change and although some days my nerves are shot from listening to these kids yell/jump/argue/generally be annoying, what keeps me going is that I know why I am doing it and I know how lucky I am. I am committed to my kids and to you and the 3 of you come first with me.

I know that (husband) would just say you are saying these things because it's what I want to hear....that you are your real self when you are with "the guys" and I'll just have to trust that that's not the case."

To that he replied, "I love you."

The reason why this email exchange is part 1 of my topic of "Love" is because it shows that my husband was not the type of person that put his own wants/desires/wishes before those of his spouse. And neither am I that type of person. Joe and I were in our marriage and in our family by choice and purposefully. We did not lose sight of that. And that is the foundation that made our love so special.

2010-01-23T12:30:00.003-05:00

I have not been sure if I would post this story but now I just feel like this is the correct place for it to be. The reason why I didn't want to post it is partially because it was what I consider to be an intensely personal experience and also one that might make you think I am completely crazy. Because I don't want my experience tainted by others' views of it, no matter what they may be, I have turned off comments on this post.

I think I have mentioned before here that I have never had a peaceful dream about Joe. I had a few dreams a long time ago, and they were unsettling. Weird stuff and just generally not good dreams. I also do not have that feeling that "he is with me" that so many people talk about. No, to the contrary, if anything I have felt that he is definitely not with me.

On New Year's Eve morning my kids woke me up about 8 when they walked by my bedroom on their way downstairs. I talked to them for a few minutes, as I always do when they first wake up, but on this day I went back to sleep.

I had this weird thing happen, I'm not sure if it was a dream or what. It was definitely not like any dream I have ever had before. When I think of it I don't really consider it a dream, more of an "experience". I will, however, refer to it as a 'dream' below for descriptive purposes.

I was what you would probably describe as half-asleep. I was sleeping but I could hear Alyssa talking every now and then downstairs. I felt like a very vivid scene was unfolding in front of my eyes at the same time.

In this scene I was in a room that I thought was my kitchen. Across the room I saw a wooden window and the top half of it was completely crooked. "WOW" I thought as I walked toward it, feeling more amazed by how it was hanging there than wondering how it got like that. As I approached it and touched it to set it back in place, all of a sudden I had this gigantically huge rush of energy envelop my body. It was like facing into a gigantic hurricane-force wind but instead of feeling violent and breathless it was incredible peaceful and comforting. It felt like love, exponentially magnified. As this wind rushed by and through me, a curtain (that appeared suddenly near the window) wrapped completely around me. I can't really describe how my body felt. The only way I can think to describe it would be like having goosebumps times one million (next time you get goosebumps imagine it times one million). While I stood there in this state, every part of me thought that this energy was Joe. It was like for the first time since he died I could actually feel his love for me in a real, physical, undeniable way, and HE was showing me.

I stood there not wanting the feeling to end and I heard my own voice half-crying say "I love you" and soon after that I was aware that I was back to reality, back in my bedroom. My body was tingly all over, like a regular case of goosebumps but all over. I laid there for a while, completely in awe of what had just happened.

It's hard for me to describe it in words and the way I described it above seems pitifully unworthy of the experience. Every time I have thought about it in the past three weeks it brings tears to my eyes because it was so powerful. I would consider myself a skeptical person when it comes to some things. I can find a concrete explanation for just about anything. I tend to lean towards that way of thinking other than constantly believing that, for example, every flick of a light is a "sign". I don't look down on that way of thinking, I just have a hard time making myself truly believe in things like that. I cannot, however, explain my experience that morning. When I think of it as "just a dream" something inside me says that's not right.

Whatever it was, it was meaningful to me, and in the end, that's all that matters.

2010-01-19T19:07:00.002-05:00

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CDs in Joe's case in his truck on July 25th, 2007.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers- The Uplift of Mofo Party Plan

Groovechild- House of Life

Insane Clown Posse- The Amazing Jeckel Brothers (I have no idea who this is and never heard him talk about it so I'm not sure how much he listened to it)

The Crow- Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

Pearl Jam- Los Angeles/New York 1992

Pearl Jam- Vitology

Come Dancing with the Kinks- The Best of the Kinks 1977-1986

Led Zeppelin (Not sure the name of the CD...has Black Dog, Rock and Roll, The Battle of Evermore, Stairway to Heaven, Misty Mountain Hop, Four Sticks, Going to California, When the Levee Breaks)

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers- Greatest Hits

Matchbox 20- Yourself or Someone Like You (ha ha- definitely not his...mine!)

Grateful Dead- The Best of Skeletons from the Closet

Van Halen- Diver Down (I don't think I ever heard him listen to this cd)

Pearl Jam- Binaural

1965-1969 Only Rock n Roll #1 Radio Hits

Jerky Boys- The Jerky Boys 3

Primus- Tales from the Punchbowl

Tool- Lateralus

Eminem- Live from the Eminem Show

The Brian Setzer Orchestra- The Dirty Boogie

Neil Young- Greatest Hits

No Doubt- Rock Steady

Pearl Jam- "Pearl Jam"

Pearl Jam- No Code
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2009-12-31T16:43:00.004-05:00

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Really hoping that 2010 is a year full of good things, a year with less pain and especially praying that a true, deep, feeling of joy will be restored in my life.
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Somehow.
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2009-12-30T22:56:00.002-05:00

The following is from a draft of a post that I wrote a long time ago. I listed ironies surrounding Joe's death, and there were a lot of them. I can't post the whole thing because it is simply just too painful for me. This irony in particular though is one that I have often thought back on:

There was a conversation Joe and I had a week before the accident in which I was worried that something might be wrong with my own health. One night I was just beside myself in worry. I told him that based on things that have happened in my life that have shown me that no one is safe, that we are all living in this temporary state, that at any moment things could change, and I felt like I was always waiting for the ball to drop. I was waiting, waiting for "it" to happen. He told me that I couldn't live like that. We talked about what would happen if worst case scenario occurred, and we thought the whole thing through and I made him tell me that he would take care of the kids if something were to happen to me. That he would go on without me. That he would be okay.

God, I still can't believe we had that conversation.

2009-12-29T21:40:00.006-05:00

It's funny (or not) because when Joe died I had a realization that I would not be living in his shadow anymore. To some extent with whatever went on in our lives, people always attributed any sort of overt action or thing that was done to him. If the kids said something funny, surely it was because of him; if there was disco ball hanging in the living room, surely it was his idea to hang it there; if the pond got shoveled, must of been him that did it; if the house got painted, he must be working hard on the weekends. I let this stuff go with kind of a "whatever" attitude but truthfully it drove me nuts inside. And, I knew, the people who really know me- my parents, my sisters- know that truth about it all anyway. I was a person before I was ever with Joe, living a pretty great life and DOING lots of stuff.

So how all of a sudden did everything in my life start getting attributed to him?

Rationally I know that Joe had a big personality and he was happy being the center of attention under many circumstances. And this change happened somewhat slowly over the years, and I rarely "tooted my own horn" so to speak, because for the most part it seemed petty to me to correct people when they assumed wrong.

But then when he was gone, I thought, well at least I would be recognized for who I am again.

I thought people would remember me, ROBIN (waving my hand wildly in the air- here I am!!). But that hasn't entirely happened. Insanely enough, it hasn't happened. He is no longer here and still things in my life, actions that I've taken, projects that I've completed, work that I've done, STILL are somehow attributed to him. How is this possible? I actually had someone say to me that he is somehow working THROUGH me. Seriously? Gee, thanks.

I will always put my husband on a pedastal, ALWAYS. I will always talk about his strength and spirit and all the good things about him ALWAYS. When he was here, I believed in him, that anything was possible that he wanted to achieve and I let him know that, ALWAYS. I do not believe that a discouraging word has any place when a person is doing their best and that is how I treated him.

How is it that such good positive energy has the ability to backfire on me?

I have done a lot of really great things in my life. I have accomplished many things that I am proud of before, during and after I was married. I will continue to live as I always have. I just wish that my accomplishments would be seen as my own, and not as his.
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I cannot figure out if this is a societal issue (people assuming the "man" always gets stuff done while the woman stands by washing the dishes), if it is a personality issue (Joe's outgoing-in-all-situations personality as opposed to my laid back nature) or something else. What I do know is that it bugs me.

I have pretty much resorted to telling myself that as long as my children know the truth, no one else matters. And for the most part, my children do know because they live with me. They have seen my projects over the years, they know what I have done and that is important- not because I need glory or credit to boost my own ego, but for another very important reason- I want my kids to know what a woman is capable of. I do not want my kids to be the type of adults that assume the man does all the work while the woman does all things that are inconsequential. And more importantly, I don't want them to live as if the man does all of the work while the woman does all things that are inconsequential.

Here is a perfect example of what I am describing. And trust me, this is JUST ONE of many:

Recently my son asked me "why (everyone) always says it was Daddy that organized Jordyn's Ride" (Jordyn's Ride is a charity motorcycle ride that Joe and I worked on together). I pretty much knew what he was talking about but asked him what he meant. "Didn't YOU do Jordyn's Ride mommy?"

"Yes Luke, I did", I told him. "Daddy and I worked on it together".

Luke remembers all my work because I dragged him out doing errands for it constantly in the months leading up to it each year. He remembers me sitting at my computer working on emails and lists and the website and countless other things- the mail; the phone conversations, making signs; planning; organizing tshirts; talking with Joe about it, on and on. Luke remembers what I did. Thank God.

I have joked with myself that if I died tomorrow someone would write on my stone "Her husband did a lot of great things".

But my kids will know better.

2009-12-28T08:07:00.013-05:00

Joe and I went to Montreal many times while we were together. It was a reasonable distance from camp (about 3 hours) and we could leave the kids with my parents and go up for some fun. These pictures were taken the last time we went, on July 6, 2007.

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These pictures make me smile although they appear to be pretty boring at first glance I am sure. The story is this....we checked into a hotel one afternoon and and Joe left to go park the truck in the parking garage. This was a new truck by the way, (I am still paying on this thing and will be until 2012!) and that's kind of important to the story. Anyway, I stood in the lobby area of the hotel for a while waiting for Joe. He didn't come back and 15 or 20 minutes had passed so I sat down. I remember thinking "what the....where did he go?" but I was completely content sitting there. It was really busy and there were all sorts of characters to watch so I was in full people-watching mode.
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I sat there.....for OVER AN HOUR.
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Finally I saw Joe coming towards me, and I smiled and he smiled and we were both completely content in that moment. I expected him to be angry about something (whatever kept him so long) and he expected me to be mad for having to wait for so long. But neither of us were mad at all, we were just...............happy.

He apologized for taking so long and he was telling me this story about how he couldn't understand the parking attendant (remember, people speak French in Montreal- many people speak English as well but they can have very thick accents) and for some reason he didn't ask the attendant to clarify what he said. So he started driving into the garage and he was looking for a spot. He had to go further and further in because the garage was so full. As he drove, the ceiling was getting lower and lower. Picture my husband in his new truck in a busy parking garage with a ceiling that is making his antenna rattle every 10 feet due to the ceiling of the parking structure closing in on him. Finally, he saw a spot, clearly marked that he should not park there. Right next to the spot was a big DANGER sign, signalling that he would not be able to take his truck any further due to the height of the ceiling.
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So he parked in that spot, and wiped the sweat off his brow I am sure. Then, not wanting to get towed, he ran back to the parking attendant and told him where he was parked. The parking attendant told him that he was supposed to park in a different area, that his truck would not fit in the area where he was trying to park (this is what the attendant originally told Joe that he did not understand). So Joe walks the parking attendant to his spot (the attendant was sure that Joe had gotten stuck or would not be able to get out). When they reached the spot, the attendant laughed and was amazed that the truck had fit under so many barriers on the way in. Joe laughed too. They both looked at the top of the truck, searching for scrapes. There were none. So the attendant told him to just stay there.
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I took the pictures on the way out the next day. You can't tell from them, but honestly, there were things hanging down in the garage-signs and pipes and stuff- that I too was amazed that Joe fit underneath them. The whole thing was like a big optical illusion. That parking guy is probably still talking about the crazy American that took his pick-up into the car only area of the parking garage.
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Was that just a really boring story? Well, I got on a roll and it still is funny to me for some reason. I really had another Montreal story in mind to tell.
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But before that one, I just want to say that I had way too much fun that night and woke up with the most excrutiating headache early early in the morning....like 5 or 6am. I seriously thought my head was going to explode and I had to push on the sides of it to make it feel better. I woke Joe up and told him how much it hurt. Without me asking, he got out of bed, got dressed and went to find me some Tylenol. The hotel store was not open yet so he pounded the streets of Montreal, no idea where he was going, to find someplace that was open. He walked half an hour before finding me some and coming back. He was so nice to me.
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Okay, so anyway, one time we were in a pub in Montreal. In case you don't know, Canadians LOVE THEIR HOCKEY. Seriously, hockey is big up there. And also in case you don't know, the arch rival of the Boston Bruins are the Montreal Canadiens. So there Joe and I sit in a giant room filled with tons of tables full of twenty-something male hockey fans drinking lots and lots of beer, and of course what was on TV? A Bruins-Canadiens hockey game. Every person in this place (except us) was rooting for the Canadiens and all eyes were on the big screens positioned all over the room.
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The Canadiens were doing pretty well and the crowd was happy. They hated the Bruins, you could tell by their comments and gestures every time there was a big hit or some play that they approved or disapproved of. It was a tough crowd. I had thoughts of "wow, I'm glad they don't know we're Bruins fans". Still, we were having tons of fun.
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Then, it happened.
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The Bruins scored.

Secretly of course I was happy to see the puck go in the net. But as the buzzer sounded what do I see out of the corner of my eye? MY HUSBAND, ON HIS FEET, ARMS IN THE AIR, CHEERING as loud as if he were in a Boston bar. Suddenly the place was quiet (except for Joe) and every head in there turned and looked at him and he just cheered louder. I think I slunk slightly in my chair, eyes wide and totally astonished that he had outed us in this bar full of the enemy. When he sat back down I told him I couldn't believe what he did, but of course we laughed and my heart was full of love for him. This was the man that I fell in love with, anywhere he went, never afraid to be himself. And passionate and fearless about anything that he loved, in this case, his Boston Bruins.
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In typical Joe fashion, by the time we left the bar he had 50 friends and they were glad to have someone to aim there comments at when the Bruins did something they didn't like (in fun, and vice-versa of course).
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2009-12-27T21:43:00.000-05:00

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sad day
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2009-12-26T19:30:00.003-05:00

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On December 24th I was not sure how I was going to make it through the next two days. I'm not sure why, but the holidays seem to get harder. I was constantly on the verge....having a mental conversation in my head...to just keep going....don't think, just do......keep busy, keep planning, keep talking, keep moving, keep passing time, keep going. Anytime I started to have a quiet moment or really look around me at what was happening, I would just tell myself, "put it aside, think about it later". Finally it was December 26.

I love my kids so much, and I don't want to wish their special days away, but I am glad it's over for now. I hope when they grow up they have nothing but good memories of magical Christmases, and I hope they have not even an inkling of feeling that I wanted the time to pass quickly. It's all so complicated, the deep desire to fulfill my childrens wishes, and the deep sadness to see them fulfilled without Joe being here to see it too.

I am sad that this is the last year probably that Luke will believe in Santa- really sad. It's further evidence that time will indeed go on without Joe. My kids are going to grow up. This is how it's going to be.
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2009-12-25T14:00:00.000-05:00

February 2005

2009-12-24T17:40:00.000-05:00

January 2006

2009-12-23T21:33:00.001-05:00

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My heart aches.
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2009-12-22T21:46:00.003-05:00

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As you know Joe was a big hockey fan. He played from the time he was a young boy, on ponds and in school and in adult leagues. He played hockey the night before he died.

If you know any hockey players, then you must realize, hockey is a commitment. It's expensive- lots of expensive equipment, and lots of money to join a league at any age. It's also a commitment in terms of time. Hockey players play whenever they can get ice time, and they travel far, wherever they need to travel. As an adult Joe would leave our house at 9:30 some weeknights for an 11PM game in a town an hour away. He wouldn't get home until 1:30 and of course he'd be wired. Happy as can be of course (he'd wake me up and sit on the side of the bed and try to tell me all kinds of goals he "almost" made, or ones that he did make, or other things that happened), but geesh it was late. He never complained about the timing, and I don't think any of the players do. If you love to play hockey, you just love to play hockey, and you don't care what time you do it.

Joe loved the Boston Bruins. He went to lots of games before I knew him, and he and I went to lots and lots of games together. To see my son love hockey so much now is bittersweet to say the least. I am so glad that he does, yet I can't help but to think constantly of how much Joe would be loving this time with Luke- to see him skate; to see him constantly absorbed with every stat of every player; to ask and ask and ask to stay up and watch every game; to have the schedule memorized; to be so excited to play on a team; to see him play floor hockey in the living room constantly; on and on.

I don't know what it will be like the first time I see Luke suited up and playing in a real hockey game. I am not sure I will be able to handle seeing that....it makes me so sad, yet so happy at the same time.

Anyway, on to my story.

Joe's favorite all time player was Cam Neely. The year I met Joe was the last year that Neely played and he was hurt a lot so I remember that he was frustrated with the whole thing. I don't really remember and didn't really witness his admiration for Cam Neely. HOWEVER, he did want to name our first born child Cameron. Which I was not in agreement with. Funny though, we were recently at a rink with little kids Luke's age playing hockey. All the fathers were yelling to their sons and they were all yelling "Cam!". I swear there were at least 5 Cams on the team. I guess lots of hockey-loving dads Joe's age had the same idea.

Joe was pretty intent on naming our baby after a hockey player (if it was a boy--we did not find out in advance). I remember that I resorted to actually paying attention to names while we watched hockey games to get ideas. Finally I found one that I liked.

We were sitting across from each other at the 103 restaurant...a place we liked to go together that was pretty closeby to our house. I remember the exact lighting in the room and the table where we sat and I remember exactly what Joe looked like. "How about Luke?" I said. "like.....Luc Robitaille" I added, trying to prove to him that Luke was indeed a hockey name. He sat for a minte and said "Yeah.....I could do Luke. BUT", he added "We HAVE to spell it the french way. L-U-C".

I looked at this guy like he was freaking nuts. "Absolutely not." I said, smiling. "You get your hockey name but we spell it my way" and I held out my hand. He looked at me for a minute and reached for my hand. We did what we alway did when we were going to seal a deal- write it in stone- we shook on it.

So it was done.

And on July 19, 2001 our baby boy was named Luke Joseph Chalifour.
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2009-12-21T20:57:00.000-05:00

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Last July (at 2 years) I wrote a post on LEFT about what I was still struggling with (here). The following was something that I wrote to balance myself after the two year mark....I did not post it on the blog, I think because I kept intending to add to it. But I didn't. So, it is what it is.....

2 years, I can:

Physically handle all aspects of logistically raising our children alone.

Maintain stability and respect in our home and although things are chaotic at times, the kids are generally happy; loving; not acting out in abnormal ways for their ages; and truthfully *great* kids. (in other words- read between the lines- none of us have “gone off the deep end” from the trauma of losing a father/husband)

Deal with the house and all the maintenance/upkeep issues that need to be addressed, either by doing them myself or finding the appropriate person to do them for me.

Drive by the place where you died, without taking the long way around, at least 50% of the time.

Sometimes, look at the kids “in the moment” and enjoy how beautiful they are or admire something they do or say, without simultaneously feeling sad that you are not here.

Sometimes, tell new people I meet or people I come in contact with, why I am a widow without shedding a tear. In other words, explain what happened without getting overly emotional.
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2009-12-20T14:10:00.002-05:00

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I don't think I will ever get over coming home that day.
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Seeing the accident scene, the drive home, the desperate yells to my husband when I rushed through the door. The feeling of the empty house. The absolute, by far, worst moments of my life.
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Sometimes when the kids are at school and I drive home....from wherever....Joe is heavy on my mind and I sit in the driveway and stare at the deck outside my front door. I see the whole scene play out....I imagine myself walking outside my door that day, phone in hand, talking to someone about what I feared, and then the hospital beeping in. I see myself standing there, hysterical, desperate, my whole world changing. I sit in my car and cry as I watch the whole thing unfold. Even the way I cry today is desperate and deeply sad when I think of this scene. And I think the same thing over and over. I ask my husband...
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"Did you see, Joe?
Did you see what happened to me that day?
Were you here then?"
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It's not easy for me to admit that I wonder those things, because it seems selfish when my husband just lost his life to be thinking of what it was like for me. But after so much time I know that the reason I feel that way is because Joe was the closest person in the world to me. I had this major life altering, insanely horrible thing happen, and it is only natural that I would need and want to go to him.
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Even when I ask the questions, I am partly hoping he could not see that scene unfold. Who would want to see someone they love in so much pain? Though I know that part of my struggle is that I was not with my husband during his life altering, insanely horrible event- his death.
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Both of us in these moments, were alone.
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It's not right.
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2009-12-19T19:00:00.000-05:00

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I can honestly say the Joe was a person who left his work at the door. We talked about his business when I brought it up, and I did ask him questions about it pretty often, but he was always optimistic and did not worry about the ups and downs. He was unbelievably great at that.

A week after our son was born, Joe left the company he had been with for years. This was a huge risk for us, new parents, shelling out some pretty big dollars to start this thing up, along with his friend and partner, Derek. I was not working at the time and Joe was leaving a company that paid him very well. We talked about this in advance. We weighed out the options and we had an escape plan if it didn't work. We knew we would have no paycheck for months. We had a set amount of time in mind to see if Joe and Derek could be successful with the venture.

The decision to be self-employed was not made based on money. The decision was based on the fact that Joe's spirit was one that wanted truly to soar, to be his own boss, to not deal with all the bs that you have to deal with sometimes when you are an employee at a company. The truth is that it was hard for me to accept him leaving his job, it felt scary for the reasons I stated above, and due to the fact that I am a planner, that does not always jive will with risk. But my worry about the business venture ended one day because of one conversation that lasted about 5 minutes.

Joe had been at work where he had just had something happen that sent him through the roof, and he left the office. He called me on the phone from his car and I kept yelling at him "Joe, pull over! Pull over!". I knew from his voice and the way he was screaming into the phone as he tried to tell me what happened that he was seeing red and I feared for his safety when he was like that. Not many people saw Joe when he was like that, but if you have, you know what I mean. He was such an even tempered, easy going kind of guy, but when he had enough, he could skyrocket to a place where his temper rivaled the worst tempers you know. When he finally was able to clearly tell me what the problem was, and this was one of a long recent string in which he felt he was being disrespected at work, I was 100% over my reservations and worries about him leaving his job to start up on his own. All the of worry and going back and forth and weighing the pros and cons didn't matter anymore and in that instant it was all CRYSTAL clear. What a gift those moments are. They honestly don't come every day. At least in my life they don't.

I knew and felt at that moment that my husband's integrity and happiness on a daily level were more important than a safe financial future. I knew that even if he "failed" in the sense that his business didn't fly, it would not be a failure. I knew that we could end up with no money, no job and a newborn to take care of.

However I also knew that we had options.I could go back to work and not stay home with Luke, and I could provide for our family if Joe was unable to. My income did not have the limitless short-term potential that Joe's did due to the nature of the two different industries we were in, but still, I would be able to make a respectable salary and get the bills paid. This would go against our chosen plan, but was a solution.

In the end, we never needed to employ a back-up plan.

Joe and Derek successfully started and grew their business with a main goal of making it a place where they wanted to go everyday. There were ups and downs for sure but generally speaking when things were not going right the two of them would reconvene and get things back on track. They worked hard. Joe provided very well for a family of 4 and generally speaking we lived a pretty great financial life. But more importantly, we lived and even greater life in terms of the man that walked through the door every night at 5- rarely late, always happy, not spending long hours at the office because he wanted to be home with us. Every night for years when he walked through the door, he yelled "Daddy's home!" and the kids came running. Every night.
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2009-12-18T16:19:00.005-05:00

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A friend of mine pointed out early on that the stories we all share with Luke and Alyssa are going to be a means by which they know their father. Luke has definite memories but he was barely 6 when Joe died, and Alyssa was 3. I know people who lost their dads at age 3 and largely they have no real memories of him. Alyssa definitely says she remembers Joe, she tells stories and talks about him all the time, but I am unsure if she really remembers him at this point or just remembers the stories. I just don't know. Last night I went to tuck her into bed and she was standing face to face with a picture of Joe holding her that's on a shelf in her room. She turned around with big watery tears in her eyes. "I miss daddy" she said. "I wish he didn't die."
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Ugh. Anyway.....
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Because of this reality, I will be posting stories and little tidbits and random facts about Joe on LEFT. I had been writing these stories and snippets privately (not on the blog) because I viewed this as something I was doing for my children, so they will know as best as I can provide about their father. However, I also know that many of you who love and miss him also enjoy these memories. In addition, I know that these things conjure up your own memories of him, and it would be much appreciated if you would write those things down in some form, for my kids. Consider it, please! It doesn't have to be long or perfectly written or anything, just get the memory down before you forget it. All the stories that I tell are from my own perspective, and it would be nice for Luke and Alyssa to hear about their dad from other perspectives too.

Also, when I hear things from others about Joe, it often brings a smile to my face. I love it that he can still put a smile to my face even so long after he's gone.

Please keep in mind that I am writing these stories for my kids, to give them insight to their father in terms of his character and personality, at whatever age or point in life they may searching. You likely will not have an interest in every topic I write about.

I know that there are widows that read LEFT that don't know me in real life, and these stories may not be interesting since they are off the topic of grief. However, I have found that writing these stories are as healing as anything in the process. Early on I could not have written these things, it was too painful. But in time, it came and was something that I wanted and want to do.
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2009-12-17T22:26:00.004-05:00

I am half-way through my daily LEFT blog-a-thon. I thought I would post a little update on how it's going.

Well, it's going. I'll admit that I have to force myself to get something on here some days, not because I don't have stuff to write about, or because I don't have time, but because it's an emotional commitment for me to actually write a post, and some days I don't feel like making an emotional commitment. I have also often asked myself, WHY OH WHY did I decide to do this in December??, a busy and rough month filled with so much emotion in itself due to Christmas. I don't have an answer to that one. I am a crazy person I guess. I can't not do it though, I would feel like a loser if I gave up. Even if no one else reads this stuff, the purpose of it is to heal my own mind, and I keep that in focus.

In addition, I have a huge non-bloggable subject that is on my mind all the time, which is my niece Jordyn. So it's kind of hard to take my mind off her and refocus on Joe. But again, I'm trying to stay focused.

I have had some realizations in the past two weeks. One is that I am absolutely 100% not ready to face Joe in video. I cannot do it. I mean, I will do it if a video presents itself, especially in front of my kids, and I will smile and comment and look okay from the outside. But on the inside I will be screaming, on my knees, dying. I know this because I specifically looked for a video one night last week for a post. It was a video of Joe skating on our pond on Christmas morning. I remember the video so clearly and I can still hear his skates gliding on the ice, his pace alternating between fast strides around the ice to quick, cutting stops. But I can't find the damn thing anywhere.

My searching caused me to view several 8mm video tapes along with footage from my digital camera. It was painful, awful, terrible to see him alive. I know, that's just wrong isn't it? I don't know why I feel that way. But I can tell you that it hurts me so much to see him there, alive, talking, walking, being Joe. It's a pain that cuts me as sharp as anything I have ever felt. I don't know why there is no comfort in it for me.

That whole video-search put me in an awful mood (understatement). Luckily this happened in the evening and my kids were going to bed soon so my short-tempered demeanor and impatience with them didn't drag on too long. But it was still there, and I am sorry to my kids for every moment when I can't deal with myself and don't give them the attention they deserve. It's not so much that I take out my frustrations with them arbitrarily, it's more that when they need or want something from me (could be anything-an actual physical object, time, they want to show me something, they are misbehaving and need to be stopped, etc) my fuse is short and I can't find it in myself to be patient and put myself on hold to give them attention. I am a serious work in progress to be a patient parent.

So the whole video topic is one realization and I am thinking about that and trying to figure out if I should just do it (make myself watch video after video) and maybe that will help me to get over that hurdle, or just wait and at some point a natural healing progression may kick in and I'll be okay with it. Not sure on that, but since my mood is so dramatically altered by watching, I think that it might be better for all three of us to put that on hold for a while.

Anyway, another realization I have had is the importance of writing stuff down so I can refer back to it at some point. I rarely go back and read my LEFT posts, and never just because I want to. I don't want to. I have looked back here and there if I am searching for something, but overall it is just too painful to read for me (and it often causes me to wonder, why the heck anyone else would want to read this stuff???). However, at some point I am hoping that I don't feel that pain, and what I see a progression in my grief, even in the little stuff. The little stuff is what matters.

For example, at some point in my life I will read this post and remember how hard it was for me to watch videos of Joe. It will be a memory. I know it will be.
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2009-12-16T21:10:00.013-05:00

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You know the story of Carlie if you read yesterday's post.
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When I made the decision to get a new dog I was open to many breeds. Truthfully my first choice was another Great Dane, but I was not ready to make peace yet with the short life span. I have always loved big blocky headed english labs. I went back and forth many times between yellow and chocolate. I read about them, researched them, talked to people who had them, etc and ultimately decided on a chocolate.
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Enter: Jack.
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We got Jack in June of 2008. He was much anticipated and planned for, yet none of the three of us had any inkling of what we were in for. If you read our family blog you have a tiny idea of what it has been like for me to be Jack's owner.
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This dog has been a serious commitment for me in many, many ways. At times I thought he was going to end me. There were a few times when I am embarrassed to say that he actually brought me to tears in my frustration with him; times when I didn't think I'd be able to keep him; that I was sacrificing the safety of my children in owning him; that I made a mistake in getting a dog; that he was put on this earth to make me miserable. He has been a serious challenge in ways that unless you have owned a difficult, bull-headed, raging male wanna-be-alpha-dog, you cannot relate to. I did not know or understand the trials of a difficult dog until Jack.
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I could write pages about Jack in terms of the awful stuff he has done; the thousands of dollars that he cost me in vet bills alone in his first year of life, not to mention the hefty price I paid for him (many times I felt like someone should have paid me to take this dog) and the boot camp I sent him to; the fact that the first and I mean FIRST time he sat long enough to pat him was at the age of 10 months and the kids and I looked at each other thinking he must be desperately sick or something because.......WHY WAS HE JUST SITTING THERE??!!...we'd never seen it before; the fact that he has an unknown environmental allergy to some sort of grass or plant (hello, he's a dog, can you imagine what this is like?); his chronic ear infections; his pica problem- pica is the act of eating unnatural things- in Jack's case his weakness is rocks; on and on people, on and on. Jack has been a challenging animal.
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But this story has a happy resolution- Jack and I are friends now. He has grown leaps and bounds in terms of his bad behavior. He is still a constant handful. He is rough and tumble and in need of constant supervision. If he was a person he'd be.....a Mike Tyson sort of guy, complete with the ear-biting tendencies. But I love him now. And that's saying a lot. Jack and I have come a long way and our story is one that gives me little bits of satisfaction...pebbles....and confidence that someday he will actually be the constant easy-going companion that I had hoped for. We are on our way.
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I am actually telling you about Jack for a reason that pertains to the topic of this blog.
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About a month ago I was searching for something in my bedside table. I came across a book that I had long forgotten about. When I saw the cover I felt that familiar twinge of sadness that strikes often and out of the blue. This is the book I found:

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"Great" I thought, "Do I want to look at this?" I wondered if I was brave enough to read what I had written inside, knowing the words in there were from a different Robin- one that did not know the destruction and pain and loss that lay ahead of her. I am often (painfully) captivated by pictures or videos or writings that were "pre-accident". I look at my face in pictures and I wish I could warn that girl that I see what was going to happen. I look at other people pictured with Joe and I think of how none of us knew what lay ahead. It's a weird feeling. If we could only have those moments back. If we had known then what we know now.
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I sat and looked at the cover of the book and remembered when Joe gave it to me. I felt the same way I always do when I come across stuff like this- intensely and deeply sad. I pulled open the cover and an envelope was tucked between the pages.
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Princess Robin. A name semi-mockingly given to me by my father that was carried on by my husband. Princess Robin.......the name of the girl in the pictures pre-July 25, 2007.
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I opened the envelope and pulled out the card that was inside. I was instantly struck by the irony of what I was holding: A cut-out card in the exact shape of my current puppy.
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Joe and I did not talk about having a chocolate lab. He gave me this book and card after returning home from a trip. I can't remember where he went or for what reason.

I opened the card and read his words to me.

I know that when Joe gave me this book I loved it. I don't care if he searched it out or picked it up at the airport on his way home. What matters to me is the words he took the time to write. I remember what specific goal he is speaking of, but the fact that he encompassed not just that goal but all that I wanted in life is such a gift- it was back then, and it is now.

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2009-12-15T22:28:00.011-05:00

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Some of my posts are written mostly with my kids in mind- to document things for them....so they know about their parents' life together. More on this later, but the following is such a post. It's long.....so read at your own risk.
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Today is December 15th, my first dog, Carlie's, birthday. She was born on December 15, 1999. She died on June 16, 2007.
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One day I was out for a walk with a friend. We were on a remote country road and we met up with a lady walking this beautiful, HUGE, black Great Dane. From the minute I saw this dog, I knew that I would have one. His blocky head and floppy ears and clunky demeanor made him adorable. I called Joe on my way home from that walk, and I told him about the dog I had seen and how I fell in love with him. From that moment on I was constantly researching and daydreaming about having a Great Dane.
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This time period was a lot of fun for Joe and I. We were single (though engaged), working hard during the day to be successful career-wise, and having lots and lots of fun at night and on the weekends. I look back on those years so fondly....I would not change the lifestyle I had in my twenties for anything.
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Around the time when I saw the Great Dane, Joe and I were looking to buy a house. In November of 1999 we found one that was perfect for us....a two bedroom post and beam cape on a great piece of land in a small town. After the agreement was made to buy, we packed up everything we owned, which all fit into a UHaul and drove it to the closing. We laughed about how we would be in trouble if the deal fell through. I still remember the pride and fullness we both felt after closing on our house. We both worked hard, and we were starting our life together. It was one of the best days of my life, and one of the best feelings of my life.
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Joe and I unpacked our UHaul by ourselves and moved everything into our new house. Just the two of us.
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Of course after we moved in I was constantly talking about getting a dog. But I was also busy settling in, working during the day and unpacking, organizing, decorating, cleaning and living in our new house in my free time.
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Little did I know, in that first month after we moved into the house, Joe was busy researching dog breeders and locating new litters of black Great Danes so that he could give me one as a Christmas present. It's not an easy task to find a good breeder of a giant size dog, where temperament is so important, along with many other health factors, AND on top of that find one that will have a litter of black pups in a certain time period. But Joe did it.
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For me.
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So fast-forward a few weeks....Joe and I had plans to get out of work early and go and do something, I think go Christmas shopping, one day. The plan was that I would meet him at his work and we'd leave from there. Joe got into my Durango, holding a box.
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"What's that?" I asked.
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"We need to go and drop this off somewhere first....in Massachusetts" he said.
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Um. Okay." (Thinking WHAT?! Is he crazy, we're driving an hour away when we're supposed to be going Christmas shopping??!!). I moved over to the passenger seat so he could drive wherever it was that he needed to go.
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As time wore on, I realized that something was up. The box was tossed in the back and obviously not the reason for our mid-day excursion. We kept driving and driving and driving. I kept asking him where we were going and he kept telling me "You'll see". I was intrigued, but at the same time getting impatient as the hours passed by, seriously thinking...whoah...this better be good.
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FOUR HOURS LATER we were in Connecticut, pulling up to a house with a visible wire fence around the back. From my seat I could see dog after dog.....Great Dane after Great Dane!!!
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We went in the house and met a new week-old litter of puppies. They were the cutest puppies I had ever seen! Along with the pups, seven of the breeder's own Great Danes roamed the house. I was in serious dog heaven. The only downfall...we were just visiting. The little guys were too small to take away from their mama. So we left empty handed.
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We visited the litter two more times before we could take a dog home. The breeder's house was near Foxwoods Casino and we would make a weekend of it....visit the dogs and then stay at Foxwoods. Those were great times.
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Finally the day came when we were able to pick our puppy and take her home. From the first moment I knelt down at the breeder's house, Carlie came over to me and was persistent that she wanted to go home with us. I held her on my lap the whole 4+ hour ride home. Carlie was the sweetest puppy ever, and she grew up to be the best dog ever. Joe and I loved her. We were both out the door for work by 7:45am and not back home until 6pm, so we felt terrible for leaving her so long during the day. We hired a dog walker to walk her twice a day! She grew fast, from 13 pounds when we brought her home to about 120 pounds as an adult. We taught Carlie never to jump on anyone and she was really good about it. The only person she jumped on was Joe...and that's only when she was invited. He would look at her and tap his chest and up she would go. They looked at each other eye to eye....and danced. Luke and Alyssa thought is was so funny when daddy and Carlie danced.
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Before I had kids, Carlie was my baby. She slept with me until Joe came to bed and only got off the bed under protest (and I was sad to see her go!) I couldn't imagine loving anyone or anything more (other than Joe of course). I secretly wondered if I would love my kids as much as I loved my dog- okay maybe that wasn't a big secret- I think that I said that out loud a few times.
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When I started staying home with Luke, Carlie and I spent lots and lots of time together. When Joe came home she would meet him at the door every night, and often she was the first "hello" that Joe gave when he came in the door ("Hi Carlie Marlie!"). She was always gentle with both kids, and I never worried about anything other than her sheer size in hurting them. She put up with a lot of stuff from Alyssa when she was a toddler.... crawling on her, pulling her ears and poking her eyes. Carlie took it all in stride. She never made an aggressive move toward her.
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The average age of a Dane is 8 years. Her health deteriorated in the last year as did her quality of life. Joe and I went back and forth about what we should do and finally ended up deciding we had to have her put to sleep. I cancelled the appointment several times before we actually went through with it. We both cried a lot that day....in the animal hospital, before, after and for days after. Joe missed Carlie a lot. He missed her being at the door greeting him when he got home. He missed her riding to camp with him on Friday nights. It was hard.

I sat my kids down when we came home from the vet that day and told them that Carlie had died. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine that one month and 11 days later I would be sitting them down again to tell them that their father died.

We had Carlie cremated and we received her ashes early in July. They were in a wooden box in our bedroom. We were planning to have a little ceremony with the kids and bury the box in the yard. That didn't happen.

Carlie's ashes are in Joe's grave with him. They are together. I can't say I get much comfort from that....I guess maybe a tiny bit.

Carlie was a great, great dog. Early on I started calling her my baboon....my Carlie baboon. I have no idea why except that's what rolled off my tongue when I looked at her. Her "real" full name on her AKC registration is "Carlie Isis Piper Vegas". Isis, Piper and Vegas are all names that I wanted to name her and Joe didn't like. I got them in there anyway ;-)

She was truly a gentle giant and a wonderful member of our family. She never learned to fetch (she would run after the ball and NEVER bring it back!) and she had her quirks as well. She drove me crazy sometimes when she would follow me around constantly throughout any given day. She was a BIG DOG to be at your feet all day.

She didn't steal food or beg- with a couple exceptions- she liked Annie's noodles and chocolate chip cookies. Since she never was interested in people food I was not careful about leaving it where she could get it. One time I was making cookies and she stole some off the island where they were cooling. I thought it was funny. The kids dropped food on the floor all the time as toddlers do and she would leave it there. But the cookies brought out the devil in her.

What makes Carlie even more special to me is how I received her, as a gift from my husband. Through his hard work and searching he gave me exactly what I wanted. He was good to me. And Carlie was good to all of us.

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2009-12-14T17:08:00.002-05:00

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People don't often understand that although we are over 2 years into our "new" life, death is a common subject on my children's minds. Not in a morbid and dark way, but more in a way that signifies that my kids have experienced something traumatic that their brains are trying to make sense of still. Time does not make the thoughts fade, at least not yet. Often it is only when the three of us are alone that my kids will mention death or feel comfortable enough to ask a question or make comments about death.

When Alyssa plays with her ponies, or polly pockets or stuffies etc, if you listen to her made-up stories, one of them usually dies, or has died. The rest of the ponies, polly pockets or stuffies are dealing with it sadly but matter-of-factly. Sometimes it's not even sad. It's just a fact.

I never interrupt her, and trust me some of the things she says would/could be considered crude or violent under "normal" circumstances. I know whatever is going through her mind is important for her to act out. I listen and try to pick up clues about what is going on in her head, and I might ask her a question later. I also deal with my own pain to hear my daughter talk about such things.

The conversation comes up every few months about what would happen if I were to die. They know logistically what would happen and can tell you exactly how they would be taken care of. But still there is the looming question of what it would be like to not have me. Obviously my kids know I cannot tell them with certainty that I am not going to die. I just tell them that no one knows when anyone will die, but that most people die when they are old and I expect to live a long time. We talk about this stuff at dinner. If you were a fly on the wall you might be surprised by the tone of these conversations. They are not sad per se, they are factual, informational. We talk about death like a lot of people talk about their day at work or school. These conversations were hard at first, years ago. I remember having to take long pauses to hold my composure to finish my sentences without crying. But now it's all different. My kids know the answers to their questions, yet they still feel the need to have the conversations again and again.

We talk about other people dying. They talk about the actual death in a factual way, but they get upset to think of how others would react to the death.

We talk about the accident. They often say little snippets here and there about parts of the accident that are on their minds. We may be acting silly or normal and for whatever reason a word comes up....that jogs their memory about their father...and they throw out some random thought and just as quickly move on to another subject. For example.....think..... (out of Alyssa's mouth) "My finger hurts......" followed by "daddy didn't have any pain when he died" followed by "I'm going to sit with Riley on the bus tomorrow!" A random reference to Joe, stuck in between two topics which are completely unrelated. No mention of him before or after, just a comment floating in her head that needed to come out.

They have many, many questions about heaven and where their father is now. Almost all of them I answer with "I don't know for sure because I have never been to heaven, but I think....." Recently Alyssa asked me if, when Jack goes to heaven, will he still be our dog when we get there or will someone "steal" him? Heaven is a mix of confused emotions for kids and adults. "If daddy is happy and at peace and there is no sadness in heaven, then does that mean he doesn't miss us?" I could write a long list of difficult questions we ponder. I don't want to.

My kids regularly deal with situations at school or with their friends in which they are reminded of and forced to comment on their father's death. "Does your dad like hockey"...."Yes...but....my dad died"; "Your dad's name is Joe?"...."Yes, but.....he died"; "Draw a picture of your family"...."Hmmm should I include daddy?" on and on and on and on.

Last week my kids got little video email messages from Santa Claus. They thought they were pretty cool....Santa spoke to them by name, said specifically what they wanted for Christmas, and even had a picture of them in his "Nice" book. Both were pretty mystified by the whole thing. I watched Luke as he looked at the computer screen with all the wonder and excitement of Christmas in his face. He was watching Santa talk to him. Then suddenly the light in his face dimmed and he turned to me. "Is Santa going to die"?

Yes, my friends, we still live it. Even with the happiest moments, over two years later, every piece of happiness comes with a twinge of fear that it can be lost in an instant.

I am raising two children who think about and face some very challenging life questions and realities at the ages of 5 and 8, and they've been doing it for over two years. I don't know if their hardest days coping with their loss are ahead of them or behind them. Like me, they have learned how to maneuver the day-to-day changes, but the thoughts are never far away of what is missing. The most heart-wrenching part for me in terms of my kids is to know that they possess knowledge that stole away the innocence that (**I thought**) is supposed to be part of being a kid. Life can be hard, cruel and difficult, and they learned it way too early.

I write these things knowing that the majority of the kids in the world do not have lives as great as Luke and Alyssa. They do not face issues that millions of kids face....addiction, abuse, hunger, extreme poverty, poor health, absense of a parent by their own choice, on and on. It may seem like I babble on so about what my kids don't have and the hardships they face on this blog, but this is not so in real life. I am conscious every day of all that they have, and truly thankful and grateful for it. They are aware to the degree that they can be at their ages that they are very lucky kids in most areas of life. Though they have had to face a huge loss, they have the love and devotion of so many people around them. They live in a comfortable house, eat healthy meals every day, sleep in warm beds and get to go to school. They have a mother who loves them completely and unconditionally.

People tell me that Luke and Alyssa will be stronger individuals because of what they have been through. Though I don't dispute what they say, I don't understand it. For some reason I can't wrap my mind around that idea. What I do believe and hope for however, is that my children appreciate more because of what they have been through. I hope as adults they appreciate genuine kindness and love and time and success and never take any of those things for granted. If they can do that, then death has offered them one avenue of experiencing life more richly. Though it comes at a high price, they have the opportunity to live in a more fulfilling way because of it.

2009-12-13T22:00:00.003-05:00

Today we went to Santa's Village.

One of the last places we went together.

Our kids are so much bigger now.

2009-12-12T11:59:00.003-05:00

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We always went to a tree farm and cut our Christmas tree down when Joe was here.

In 2007 my sister JoAnn went with Luke, Alyssa and I to get our tree. We picked it out of a lot.

In 2008 Joe's brother Jeff went with Luke, Alyssa and I to get our tree. We picked it out of a lot.

This year it was just the three of us and we picked it out of a lot. I felt like that was....bearable....realistic.....and just how it is. It is sad for me to do this stuff. The memories of years past are right at the front of my mind. The pictures of my kids running through the tree farms, picking out our trees, Joe cutting them down, the whole thing....they are all etched still so clearly in my mind. I knew then, while it was happening, that at these were perfect moments for our family. All happy, all working together, all perfect. Now, all gone.

I realize that the sadness of the tree tradition is not the same for Luke and Alyssa as it is for me. Obviously they were too small to remember going to get Christmas trees in a backpack as babies or even as toddlers and young kids. I think Luke might remember getting a tree with Joe, but probably not Alyssa (insert heart break). And of course they are not forward thinking in the way adults are. Joe and I were consciously building traditions for our family, the sadness of those traditions being stopped in their tracks is mine alone. I hate knowing that the days and years with my little children are slipping by and I won't get this time back....what if I look back and wish I kept a tradition going?

I can hear some of you saying "But you'll build new traditions". And we have. And "At least you have people who love you in your lives". And we all know we do. But at the same time I need to acknowledge what has been lost. As a wife, my entire present and future life was intertwined with Joe. I am trying to untangle that and make sense of it. I have had no choice but to figure out the present, as we live day to day. I have to be realistic and this blog is where I write the hard stuff that sits in my head. My actual life, the one that I live each day with my kids is not dreary and sad and miserable. We don't mope around. We don't dwell on the intensely sad stuff. When the three of us talk about stuff that we miss, we acknowledge that we feel sad about it, we take time feel that, and then we move on.
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2006

2005

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Life will never be the same. What the future brings is unknown, but for certain, it will never be the same.

2009-12-11T21:14:00.007-05:00

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When I first met Joe he would often pretend he was someone else on the phone when he called me just to be silly. It was funny for a while because it was part of who he was, always this wacky, happy guy.

Then he kept doing it.

For years.

And years.

And years.

And years!

He seriously did this for as long as I knew him. He'd call and obviously I always knew it was him (we were way, way, WAY past him being able to fool me and he had stopped trying really.) He would use the same crazy voice and way of talking EVERY TIME. Sometimes I'd just let him babble on about whatever nutty thing he was in the mood to talk about...pretend he was the phone company guy....pretend he was selling paper....pretend he was looking to buy bird food....whatever. I'd hold the phone and barely pay attention until he was done and we could get onto our normal conversation. Other times I'd tell him to stop and we'd resume normal conversation faster. I'd say to him "Joe, you've been doing this for YEARS. Doesn't it get old for you?" but of course it never did.

I swear if he could call me from wherever he is now, he'd pretend he was someone else, probably claiming he saw me steal his pet rooster or some crazy thing like that.
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2009-12-10T22:08:00.003-05:00

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His first words to me during our last phone conversation were "It's a beautiful day out there!" He meant it and he said it with excitement and pleasure in his voice. This was common for him.

How many people do you talk to in a day that start their conversations with such positivity and zest for life?

Lots of people don't even notice a beautiful day. They let all the days blend together, or only voice an opinion or affirmation of the dreary ones.

When you actually take the time to notice, there are lots and lots of beautiful days.

I know that because I take the time to consciously look outside and notice now, pretty much every day.

I say it out loud to my kids. And you know what? When it is a beautiful day, it makes the day feel even a little more beautiful just by saying it.

In the past I may have noticed and felt a beautiful day, but not said it out loud. Of course a common theme on this blog is voicing how you feel, and this is another example of how it can make life brighter.

While we are on the beautiful day topic......

One day, a looooooong time ago, Joe brought home a U2 cd. This was out of the ordinary for him because although he didn't dislike U2, he also didn't have any of their other cds and it was a different genre than his normal music. He unwrapped it as he was walking into the house and put it in the stereo. He clicked to the song for which he bought the cd and turned it up. I smiled then to hear it, just as it makes me smile now. Guess what it was?

Beautiful Day

A beautiful, upbeat song by the way. It's about a man that has lost "everything" but finds joy in what he still has. It is a song that I've never had a hard time listening to since Joe died, in fact, I like it. I think its kind of funny that he liked the song...probably the most pop-ish type song I ever knew him to actually purchase....that's what makes it special....it was the song's message that he was drawn to.

It's a song that I would definitely consider if I were going to make a soundtrack of his life. The feel of it fits his personality to a tee. Though of course, Joe never lost everything. In life that is. He was a successful soul in so many areas.

And it's no accident that successful people notice the beautiful days.

Next time you hear that song, think of my husband.

"It's a beautiful day, don't let it get away...."
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2009-12-09T20:58:00.001-05:00

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Mom and Dad I just want to tell you that I love you so much. I feel so lucky to have both of you as my parents...for many reasons....and also for loving me through the most difficult time of my life.

As an adult I thought I was "done" leaning on my parents.........although it was never a conscious thought, somewhere in my adult brain I thought I had all I needed to get through life- my husband, my own family and a great life. As all that crumbled, you emerged with a presence for me that was perfect. I don't know any other way to describe it. It's not necessarily anything that you did or said that was earth shattering. It is the fact that you were grounded and guided by love for me in its purest sense. You put me first. You listened to me. You stayed with me. You kept things calm. You thought about me. You never judged any thought or action I took. You held me high, and respected every decision I made, knowing well that I was doing the best I could.

I guess that last sentence means the most to me. I know I am not perfect, but you know that I am doing my best, and you treat me that way. It means so much to me.

In a world full of- all types of people- how did I end up with these two parents? I am counting my lucky stars. I am aware of the power of love a parent has for a child, both in the way I love my own children, and in the way that I am loved by my parents.
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2009-12-08T19:40:00.005-05:00

I feel like it should make me feel better....

but all it does is make my heart break more.

2009-12-07T07:55:00.003-05:00

"One death reminds us of all death."

I heard this statement one day no too long ago when flipping tv channels. I don't even know if I have the exact wording correct, but the way I remember it above makes so much sense to me.

Maybe the quote seems simple, like stating the obvious to some people, I don't know.

For me, it allows an understanding of some of the emotions that I've felt in the past few years (and even before that) that I could not make sense of. It gives me permission to feel whatever emotion a new death evokes, as these emotions are from unresolved grief that still needs attention somewhere deep within.

2009-12-06T21:06:00.002-05:00

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In my last actual conversation with Joe, voice to voice on the phone, I was not loving towards him. I was actually frustrated with him because he forgot something that was important to me that he remember (this had nothing to do with our anniversary by the way........I just want to make that clear since I was coming home from camp to be with him for our anniversary). What I was frustrated about was just an everyday life sort of thing that doesn't mean anything in the scheme of things. We all get frustrated with people we love and live with. It just sucks that it was our last conversation on the phone though.

Joe had this way of talking to me when I was being unreasonable or short with him for my own reasons. He didn't act like a jerk (which he would have been justified for in some cases), instead he took on the attitude of "hey, what is up with you...you're going to talk to me whether you like it or not" mixed together with a slight twinge of playfulness. It's so hard to describe, but I guess the underlying sentiment of it is that he didn't take life so seriously, definitely not as seriously as me. And he knew me well enough to to know lots of times my moods were all about me and rarely about him.

That was his tone with me during our last conversation by phone.

We did email each other when I got home that day and all was normal and fine (no frustrations between us). His last email to me at 4pm was about how much fun we were going to have together that night, July 25, 2007. Ironic, since of course it turned out to be the most horrifyingly awful night of my life.

Although I wish our last conversation by phone were different, I honestly have never lingered too long on it or felt it in any way as a deep regret. The reason for that is that Joe and I had many, many loving and meaningful exchanges and they made up the majority of our life together. For every time I was an unreasonable bi#$ch to him, there are a hundred times when I did or said something nice and loving and uplifting to him/for him.

One of the most comforting feelings that I have is that I do not look back and wish I said X or Y or Z in terms of our love. I loved him, and he knew it. He loved me. And I knew it. We were specific with each other on the reasons why, and that made all the difference. Voicing the specifics is what changes "love" from a feeling to a fact. And when someone is not alive anymore, we are forced to deal in facts.

That is not to say I don't wish that I didn't do some things differently.
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2009-12-05T09:37:00.000-05:00

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I still sleep with the tv on most every night.
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2009-12-04T09:45:00.001-05:00

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I hate getting into a cold bed. Hate it. I like lots and lots of blankets piled up like a weight that moves in one big heap when I move. I wish they made a blanket that was as heavy as one of those lead vest thingies you have to put over your body at the dentist when you have x-rays. I would definitely buy that.

When I was married, sometimes I would get into a cold bed and didn't want to wait for it to warm up. I'd lay there for a minute and then go to the top of the stairs and tell Joe he had to come up because I was cold and he needed to warm up the bed. I was kind of half kidding---okay 10% kidding- but I was always surprised after I got back in bed and I'd hear him turn off the tv and the lights and walk up the stairs. It seemed like kind of an absurd request of someone- but he did it for me anyway.

Sometimes, on different occasions, if he was getting into bed before me I'd ask him to lay on my side of the bed first to warm it up for me. He did that too. Then I'd get in and push him over to his cold side. Damn, two cold spots in one night. He really must of loved me.

And sometimes, if I was laying there in the middle of the night and couldn't fall asleep, I'd look at him (sleeping) and think.........hmmmm........how can I mess with this guy? (oh please..... don't act like you've never done the same). It didn't seem quite fair that I couldn't sleep and there he was, drenched in dreamville. My favorite thing to do was nudge him forcefully (but not meanly of course) until he woke up and say "Joe, you're SNORING! Stop snoring!" and act all perturbed with him. Of course he believed me (which is funny in itself because he never snored) and he'd apologize and I'd turn over and laugh to myself about how funny I am (he'd be back asleep in about 20 seconds). I crack myself up.

I miss that stuff. I miss him.
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2009-12-03T09:07:00.003-05:00

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Sometimes I feel guilty for bringing such pain to the lives of my sisters' children- Jesse, Heather, Joshua, Kristyn and Jenny. It is not rational, I know. I didn't cause what happened. But I brought Joe into my family and had I not done that, they would not know the pain that they do in losing him.

It brings me to tears to think of these "kids" that I have known since they were babies to know such pain. To be old enough (unlike my own children) to fully understand the depth of the loss. When I think about it I just want to say I am sorry a thousand times, so my sweet nieces and nephews, here's one:

I am sorry.

I know you loved him and he loved all of you too. Really loved all of you. He saw you as kids and felt protective over you, just as any good uncle would. There is an exception to that- Joshua. For obvious reasons (being the oldest and actually being a young adult) Joe saw Josh in a different way....one that he and I argued about. Joe treated Josh more as an "equal"...as a friend.....just different. Although I do believe, looking back, that this was the right relationship for the two of them, I didn't always like it. Josh was our family's first collective baby. He will (probably) always be a kid to me.

I just hope that all of you remember Joe and take all the good parts with you. Joe would still want you to have lots of fun, to do good in school, to act silly and crazy sometimes, to appreciate your family, to have goals and work hard, to act respectfully and to show your love to the people who are important to you. He was a great uncle and although you had him in your lives for too short of a time, there a lessons to learn from him if you choose to look for them.

Don't let the pain of what happened overshadow how you think of the world, of life, or how you think of him.

Let him live on, in you. Just as he will in his own children.
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2009-12-02T08:34:00.001-05:00

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One of the most terrible-feeling things I do everyday is locking the front door a 4 o'clock when my kids and I walk in from the school bus. As the deadbolt loudly clicks into place I know that we're all here, no one else is coming through the door. I can't explain the emptiness in that sound.
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2009-12-01T09:20:00.001-05:00

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I long to see Joe hug our children as they are now.

When I look at pictures of Luke and Alyssa at their current ages of 8 and 5, I realize how much older they are than when Joe died. It's painful to think of him missing all of this. I feel a simultaneous sense of urgency and helplessness to change it. Obviously that's not going to happen.

I particularly find myself daydreaming of what it would be like to see Joe hug and play with Alyssa. Maybe it's because she was so little and she has changed so much, grown up so much, between the ages of 3 and 5 1/2. Sometimes when I hug her I pretend my arms are her father's and somehow he can feel what it is like to hug her through me. Crazy, I know. I just wish he could experience the joy of holding our growing children.

I know if he was still here he would be savoring these moments. Joe was very good at living in the moment and he valued time with his children. Being a father was one of his favorite things to be and he found a lot of genuine joy and fun in that role. He was never the the type to just go through the motions of life, or rather be somewhere else.

I hate to think of what my kids, and I, have missed by not having him here.
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2009-11-30T09:06:00.003-05:00

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I have so much stuff floating around in my head that pertains to the topic of this blog. It's hard for me to get my act together and try to write about this stuff because most every post seems somewhat daunting to me.....writing the words, explaining myself, dealing with how it makes me feel (facing stuff that I'd rather forget about), etc.

I really want to get these things out of my head though. What this blog does for me is to put words to my thoughts and then allow me to let go to some extent of whatever topic I have written about. Sometimes I have to write about something several times, but writing does allow me in some respect to get a step closer to healing different topics that I need to work through.

I am going to challenge myself in the month of December to blog every day on LEFT. I am giving myself permission to let it be anything.....a full post, a single thought that ruled my head on whatever day, something floating in my head that I don't feel like going into detail to explain, a picture, etc...

We'll see how that goes.
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2009-11-24T22:29:00.008-05:00

I have written before about my difficulties in listening to some of Joe's favorite music, or music we enjoyed together for our entire relationship. Specifically it's been difficult with Pearl Jam and I have yet to conquer that hurdle- to be able to listen and enjoy it in my house as we used to do so often. You have to understand that separately he and I were huge Eddie Vedder fans before we ever met, and it is something that we truly enjoyed together during our marriage. One of the best memories we had together was awesome seats at a Pearl Jam concert that I paid way too much money for as a gift for him and, just to blow some extra cash, we rented a limo last minute (and top dollar) for transportation to and from the show. Truthfully, this was pre-kids and we were both making great money and it did not put us into any kind of financial hole, but the actual dollar amount caused us to talk about that night with huge smiles on our faces and say to each other "that was excessive", each knowing with pure certainty that it was worth every penny. That trip and memory has fueled a few of what I consider extravagant outings (maybe not to some, but to me) for me and my kids over the past few years, knowing all too intimately the truth in the phrase you only live once. (I think) I am a pretty frugal person by nature, and I would never put my family's financial well-being at risk, but I learned with Joe that I don't want to let money hold me back from doing things that can be remembered and treasured and talked about for years. That being said, I am grateful to have the opportunities that I do.

Back to the Pearl Jam concert for a minute. I just want to say this because it is totally corny and I laugh at myself to think of it, but it also displays how much I love the band. At that concert I had "a moment" like those crazy screaming Elvis girls in the 50's. I actually shed a tear when Eddie Vedder came on stage. Like, to see him and hear his live voice was over-the-top for me and I had to talk myself down a little to get control of myself. Later in the show I did get more overwhelmed when he sung "Given to Fly" (for those of you who know the song) because I always think of my friend Jennifer who died of cancer at age 26 when I hear that song. Ironically that song would later become pertinent to my own husband, who stood next to me holding my hand at this concert.

I could go into the meaning of Given to Fly for me but I will leave that out of this post. I know the intended meaning from the writer and I have always seen it in the light of death, losing a loved one. Afterall, it is what music means to us individually that is so moving.

I knew that Pearl Jam was releasing a new CD this fall, but honestly, I did not have any intentions of listening to it, much less buying it. I was in Target a couple of months ago when it first came out. I saw it displayed on my way in and just walked right past it. On my way out though, I was stuck staring at a huge display of new Pearl Jam cds as I waited in the checkout line. "Fine" I thought in my head, "I will look at you" and I picked up the case and turned it over. A few songs down in the song list on the back had a title that I could not take my eyes off.

"Just Breath"

After Joe died I had to remind myself constantly and purposefully to take breaths. Most people do not know what that is like, and my genuine prayer for them is that they never know. If you do know what I mean, you may have suffered an incredibly traumatic, sudden and tragic loss as I have. Suddenly each breath is deliberate and purposeful. A healthy human body is brought down to basic bodily functions to survive each minute. I remember holding my breath, not even realizing it, because the thoughts and pain in my head were spiraling out of control. I remember for months after he died, as I reminded myself to take a deep breath, I would unintentionally let out a loud and long sigh. To this day my son associates that noise with the loss of his father. If I sigh for any reason, Luke will ask me out of nowhere "Are you thinking about daddy?". Ugh, that hurts to write, there is still so much pain.

"Fine!" the conversation in the checkout line went on in my head "I'll buy you." and I begrudgingly threw the cd on the counter with my other stuff, as if someone was making me do something I didn't want to do. "I don't actually have to listen to it if I don't want to" I thought, giving myself a way out.

Five minutes later I was ripping the plastic of the cd in my car. I popped it in and skipped ahead to Just Breath.

After one line of his voice and guitar, I sat somewhat stunned as a tear rolled down my cheek.

"Yes I understand that every life must end".....

Each line that came from his mouth made me cry more, until I was sobbing harder than I have in months. Obviously I was completely unsure of what this song would be like- fast, slow, hard, soft....and furthermore I had no idea that it would be about death, the exact subject that the title spoke volumes to me about. So to hear this beautiful, clear music dripping with words that were so meaninful to me felt overpowering. I imagined it was Joe's voice talking to me. Of course not all the words pertain to our situation. In the song, the person is still with the one he loves, and obviously I never had the luxury of having any last words with my husband. Still this song speaks to me down to the last line.

".............Meet you on the other side."

I have only listened to the song a handful of times and the cd has spent most of its time sitting on my desk. I remember the words though, and I've thought about them a million times. This song reminds me of how much Joe loved me (I have not forgotten how much I love him). And more importantly, for me, it reminds me that Joe was human.

Sometimes I get so pissed at him for things left unresolved. For things that I've found out or dealt with since his death that any normal, living couple would work out in the course of their marriage. And I get pissed that he is not here to be held accountable. For some reason people think that all forgiveness comes with death, but that is not true.....That somehow instantly every shortcoming is forgiven, and so now they can tell you anything that they couldn't tell you when he was alive. A widow knows different. A widow knows such confessions makes the pain worse, because now you have information that you would have taken up with him if he was alive; You still feel angry, yet you have nowhere to go with that anger. All of this is very unsettling.

I know my husband was a great man, a wonderful and loving husband and the kind of dad that any child would be lucky to have. I also know that he was not perfect and neither am I. Grief is a long, sometimes messy and ugly process. We have to grab pieces of help from wherever they come from, including songs that you thought you would never listen to.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo-UKCxCglg

2009-11-09T11:36:00.006-05:00

We've had a very emotional week considering the news with my niece, Jordyn. I know there are some people who read this blog that don't know me "in real life" so the basics are that my 8-year-old niece has fought a hard battle with cancer and at this point the treatment that she was receiving is not working as well as the doctor's had hoped it would. They have let her go home and will continue chemotherapy there to keep the cancer at bay as long as possible. Of course everyone who knows her and her family is praying for miracle.

At some point I may post more in detail about what the situation with Jordyn means to me and Luke and Alyssa (I could write pages and pages already), but I honestly feel like doing that now is not respectful to the great pain and struggle that Jordyn and her parents and sister are going through. They are at the center of my thoughts constantly.

I have talked to Luke and Alyssa about what is happening and we continue to talk about it as often as they bring it up. They know that no matter what happens, the three of use will get through it together. They seem to be doing okay.

Last week I was very busy working to try to help to pull together a welcome home celebration for Jordyn. It was good for me in that it kept me busy and working on a project, so I didn't sit and dwell for long periods. On Saturday, when it was all done and the project was "complete", it was difficult for me. I don't know if I will ever get used to walking into an empty house with Luke and Alyssa and knowing that, we're all here, it's just the three of us now. Whenever I go to any sort of gathering/party/event, no matter what fun I have when I am there, it is always followed by that empty feeling of being alone when I go home. Obviously I am not physically alone, since my kids are with me, but trust me, it is a lonely feeling nonetheless. And that lonely feeling along with everything that is going on in my life right now basically sucks. I am very thankful for my family and friends and how much they love me and my kids. It's not the same though, as having a constant companion and love in my life.

No comfort, no soft place to fall.
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2009-11-06T00:04:00.003-05:00

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I have been trembling for three days straight. I've been out of my mind busy and keeping my mind completely occupied. But in my still moments I realize it is there.
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Then I busy myself again.
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2009-10-26T22:45:00.000-04:00

Last week Luke and I had a long conversation (20 mins...that's a long time for a one-topic conversation with him that doesn't involve sports) about the day that Joe died. Thankfully this time it did not involve his insistence that it should have been me to go to the grocery store that night (therefore Joe would not have stopped there on the way home, therefore the accident would not have happened). This time he wanted specific information about where I was when I found out, where I was when it happened and what I did next. In short, he was asking for more details about what ensued for me after his daddy died.

This is a big step for Luke because from the very beginning, I know that on some level he has always been worried about me. Despite my assurance to him that I can take care of him and Alyssa and the house and our lives, without daddy here, I can tell he worries. I recently realized that all this time he wasn't worried about about those logistical items that I've worked so hard to prove myself capable of, he was worried about his mommy, her happiness and the fact that I lost my husband and what that means to me. Some may think that way of thinking is too advanced for such a little boy, but I know my son, and I have lived this tragedy day-in and day-out with my children over the past 2+ years, and I believe it to be the truth.

Luke was old enough (6 years and 6 days old) to have seen his mom and dad love each other every day. He remembers and is really the only witness on a daily basis to our marriage. Alyssa was so little when Joe died that she remembers bits and pieces and stories, not the day-to-day stuff.

I imagine it can be very difficult and maybe even scary for a little kid to see their parent cry. Luke has seen me cry on several occasions because I didn't want to completely shield him from the hurtful emotions that come with losing a loved one. I think that seeing his mother cry has been deeply upsetting to him but instead of showing it he pretended nothing bothered him. That could be one reason why he has never cried about losing his father, though honestly I cannot be sure. I'm still trying to figure that one out.

I also think that has contibuted to the long intervals between which he asks questions. I say "contributed to" because I think there are many other reasons why a child asks for bits and pieces at a time. One of those reasons is if you don't want to upset your mother, you don't ask questions that might make her cry.

So anyway, I explained to Luke more details of what happened that day. How I went to do an errand in Portsmouth; how daddy and I planned to meet back home at 6 and make dinner; how when I drove home I saw the accident. There he stopped me:

Luke: "What?! You saw the accident?!" (looking upset) "You never told me that!"

Me: "Well, I drove by there Luke, on my way home. And I saw a motorcycle on the ground, but daddy was not there. I didn't know for sure if it was his."

Luke: "What color was it?"

Me: "I wasn't sure at the time. It happened fast."

Luke: "Was it like, standing up?"

Me: "No it was laying on the ground."

Luke: "On the ground? Why?" (Luke has never-and most people have probably never-seen a motorcycle laying on the ground, they are always upright. Luke must have not ever pictured that the bike actually could have been doing anything other than standing up normally.)

Me: "Well, Luke, when he hit the truck-"

Luke (interrupting): "He hit the truck?! You mean daddy hit the truck? I thought the motorcycle hit the truck?"

Me: (slightly confused because I indeed did mean that the motorcycle hit the truck, but Joe also hit the truck so I was unsure what to say next.) "Daddy did hit the truck Luke because when the motorcycle hit it kind of threw him into the truck too".

Luke: (Silent, stressed look around his eyes but looking brave and determined to get his questions answered)

Me: (wondering if I am completely ruining this child by telling him this stuff)

Me: "It's hard to think about Luke, I hate thinking about that part. But one thing is that daddy died right away. Like, as soon as he hit he went unconscious. He didn't have any pain. Some people have a lot of pain when they die and daddy didn't have that."

Me: (Feeling completely unsure if any of that would make a difference to him, if he could even understand why not having pain would be a good thing considering that his father died. Just generally feeling very determined to answer him but not sure what I will say from one moment to the next because I have no idea what he will ask next.)

Luke: (insistently and in a problem-solving voice) "He should have stopped."

This is where I explained, as I have done many, many times, that you cannot stop instantly when in a car, bicycle, motorcycle, etc. He just doesn't seem to get it. I equate it to me telling my mother when I was very young and seatbelts weren't mandatory, that if I saw I was going to get into an accident I would put my seatbelt on really fast. As a kid it totally seems do-able. I understand what Luke is saying, but I have to keep hammering it home that what he's saying isn't possible. So I told him how as soon as daddy saw the truck pull in front of him he put on his brakes; how he tried really hard to stop before he got to the truck but he didn't have time; how daddy did everything right and everything he could to stop but it just wasn't possible.

Luke: "It's the truck's fault. He shouldn't have pulled in front of him."

Me: "Yes Luke, it's the truck's fault. Everyone agrees on that, that the truck should not have turned in front of daddy."

Luke: "What did you do after you drove by?"

Me: I drove home and I prayed the whole way home it was not daddy's bike that I saw".

Luke: (looking at me, waiting for more)

Me: "When I got home the garage door wasn't open and I had a bad feeling because usually daddy would have the door open when he got home. I came in the house and......(me mustering every bit of strength I have to give this information to my son with no tears in my eyes for fear of turning off his questions and having him stop talking)....he wasn't here. So I called Derek.

Luke: "Derek?"

Me: "Yeah, daddy had been at work so I wanted to know what time he left and knew Derek would know."

Luke: (Looking slightly confused because surprisingly he had forgotten that Derek and Daddy owned Boulder together. He asked a few questions about Boulder, asking who was still there, who was running it now and confirming that Derek owns Boulder alone now).

Me: "So I talked to Derek for a minute and then called Grammie. While I was on the phone the doctor called from the hospital and told me that daddy had been in a serious accident and he didn't know if he was going to make it."

Luke: "How did the doctor know?"

Me: "Because when there is an accident Luke, an ambulance goes to the accident and brings the people back to the hospital. The doctor was at the hospital when daddy was brought there but he had already died."

Luke: "So then what did you do?"

Me: "Derek came and picked me up and we drove to the hospital."

Luke: "Were you crying?"

Me: "Yes, I was crying"

Luke: "Like, how were you crying?" he displays various crying scenarios and asks me after each one, "like this?", none of it meant in a sarcastic or funny manner, but more that he really wanted to know how upset I was.

At this point he asked me more questions about that night, mostly centered around how I reacted to each thing. When he had enough of the conversation he ended by saying that he is going to get a motorcycle when he grows up.

I looked at him.

I had thought about this in the past.

I do not have anything against anyone riding motorcycles at all.

But......., my child?

Part of me wanted to tell him there would be no way on earth he would ever ride a motorcycle, to say something crazy, like, "Over my dead body" or "you would kill me if you did that" but I know that all of those comments are all about me and not about him. We sat and looked at each other for a few seconds.

"Well Luke, if you decide to ride a motorcycle when you get older your daddy would certainly understand why. Your daddy loved to ride his bike and it was one of his favorite things to do. So if you want to ride then that is your choice to make. It would be hard for mommy to see you on a bike but, that's your choice in your life".

I am not sure what the motorcycle comment was meant for, if he was testing me to see what I would say, or if he really thinks he might want to ride one for some reason that I completely cannot understand or relate to. However, I do know one thing for sure. Just as I would never do to his father, I would never in a million years tell him that he can not do something that he wants to do. People should be allowed to live life as they please and make their own choices. Although Joe knew that I pretty much hated his motorcycle and worried about him on it, I was not a wife that told her husband what he can and cannot do. Doing that would change who he was, and I loved Joe for who he was. A happy, confident, proud, fun-loving and live-life-to-the-fullest kind of guy.

I hope his son grows up to be the same way.

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2009-10-14T21:39:00.009-04:00

2 weekends ago, we were driving to the movie theater and Luke asked me a question that I was not ready for, but I thought might come at some point.

"Is daddy's body in the ground at the cemetery? Is he........like.......down there?"

We have never spoken about the specifics of Joe's actual body since he died. My children assumed that since daddy was in heaven, so was his body. I never told them otherwise. It is all very difficult and abstract for my young children. My general manner is to answer things as directly as possible but not offer additional information. They can't handle it. I can see by looking at their little faces that one question is enough for them, whatever question that might be. They take it in, and then they do something else, or change the subject completey. That is their way.

Luke usually typically asks me questions about Joe when he is on a high of some sort....when he's really happy and strong and feels like he can handle the answers. When I say "a high", I mean that he might be excited or hyper or really looking forward to something. This day his high was seeing Auntie Kim and Jesse and going to the movies.

When he asked me the question I said nothing. The first thing I thought of was Alyssa in the back seat with him. Though Luke may have learned or deduced what happens to a body when a person dies, Alyssa definitely had not. For the past two years I have talked to the kids, tried to explain to them about the difference between a body and soul, though never in terms of death and certainly never in terms of their father's death. This was all in preparation for when they would learn the truth about where their daddy's body is. But it's difficult for a child to understand, they are so literal, they want concrete proof of what a soul is. That's something I could not give them. It's hard to explain abstract ideas to a child, or at least it is for me.

We were driving and the music was on and it would have been easy for me to just not answer the question, and I definitely considered doing that. I felt like I didn't even know what to say, I felt completely stunned. Luke didn't ask again and I could tell his mind was just kind of racing from one thing to the next, he probably was already thinking of some other topic. I knew though, that I couldn't let this question slip by. I wanted to answer them truthfully so that they didn't make any of their own answers up in their little minds. After a few minutes I said, "What did you ask Luke?" and he repeated the question. "Yes", I said, "Daddy's body is in the ground at the cemetery".

"Can I talk to him?" Luke asked. "Hey, I can talk to him!"

I explained that yes, he could talk to him but he can also talk to him anywhere, anytime. I explained that daddy's body could not talk back, that the body in the ground is broken, and it does not work like the daddy that we knew.

"Can I go down there and see him?"

"No Luke, daddy's body is inside a box called a coffin. It's a beautiful wood box but you can't open it".

At that point I think the two of them pretended to talk to Joe for a little bit, being silly about what they would say to him. Alyssa pretty much took it all in stride. I think that at this point they might be able to actually understand that their daddy is in heaven AND in the ground. It's amazing really, it's a hurdle I have dreaded and never understood how I was going to explain to them without scaring them. And now the seed has at least been planted and there was no fear on their part and no additional difficult questions to confront at the time. They have not asked me about it since.

However, the bus passes by the cemetery where Joe is buried on their way home from school. Sometime recently Luke told me that he pointed to the cemetery on his ride home and told the kids that's where his daddy is. I cannot imagine what the kids thought about that information, but more than that, it rips my heart out that this is Luke's reality. It makes me intensely sad and angry that this is how things are. I have always felt angry in terms of myself visiting the cemetery. I get mad and resentful that I drop my kids off at school and go visit my husband at his grave. I often think how absurd it is, how if other parents knew what I did they probably wouldn't even know what to say about it. So it's like a secret, an angry, hateful, resentful, awful secret.

How did this happen?

After over two years I still ask myself how all of this could have transpired. My life, complete one moment, and completey upside down the next. A certain future one moment, a life full of promise and beautiful things. And in the next moment, a future of unknowns where nothing is certain. One moment I was married to a man that I was going to grow old with, we would take care of each other and watch our children grow. And in the next it was gone. Only me. Left.

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2009-10-02T14:55:00.002-04:00

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Luke and Alyssa:

I would do anything for you to have your daddy back.
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Jordyn

2009-09-12T22:52:00.006-04:00

My niece Jordyn, Joe's sister's daughter, relapsed with cancer on monday. She was diagnosed with Leukemia at 15 months, relapsed at age 4, had a bone marrow transplant at 5 and was cancer free until monday, at age 8.

As you can understand this is devastating news. You cannot imagine what this beautiful child has been through and the lengths her family has gone to to get and keep her healthy. The fact that she has to do it all again is numbing to all of us who know a fraction of the details.

Although this has had a profound effect on me, is what I am thinking about (constantly), is the center of my current method of parenting, etc, I truly feel it would be entirely disrespectful for me to blog here about how this all feels for me. I know that no matter how I feel, it is a million times worse for Jordyn's mother, father and sister. Every single ray of hope, prayer, and wish of strength should go straight to them. They need it so please, think of them often.

That being said I wanted to mention it here because it feels dishonest to completely deny this huge thing that is going on. Also, when I don't post for long periods I get emails wondering if I am okay. So, take my new posts or lack thereof, with the understanding of what I (we) are watching from a close distance.

Losing the constant

2009-08-28T23:06:00.002-04:00

For the first time in over 8 eight years I have regularly scheduled time each day in which I am at no one's beck and call. Seriously, it is crazy. Last year I had three days a week where Alyssa was in preschool for 2 hours, but that time was spent doing errands and tending to my dog and most of the time I felt like by the time I got home I was looking at the clock to see when I needed to be back there because it was such a short period of time. So this year is different. And, I'm sure like many mothers who have stayed home with their kids I (unexpectedly) feel very weird about it. I imagined all the stuff I'd get done, how I could actually get a haircut without getting a babysitter, have meetings for various things where I don't have to drag my kids along, etc. The past three afternoons I really have gotten quite a bit done. But there is also a feeling that I had not anticipated. It is that I just plain feel weird without having any children with me during the day. All of a sudden I am feeling what a change I am in the midst of. I'm never going back to having a child at my side all day. Strange.

It is these kind of changes in life in which I feel most alone. If Joe were here I could talk to him about it. He'd probably not truly understand what I was feeling but he'd sit there just the same and listen to me babble on about these changes. Then he'd hug me and although I'd still feel the change I would not feel the alone-ness. When you lose your spouse you lose something that is so hard to describe. As I've said many times before it's the little things that hurt the most.

I also had not anticipated a revisiting of some of the more torturous aspects of what happened with Joe. I had not really thought about how grief would factor into my new alone time, but obviously without my daughter's (constant) talking I have time to have uninterrupted thoughts.
For some reason lately I've been wondering this:

How could a woman, a mother, be so cold and heartless as to watch a man die before her eyes and immediately have her thoughts go to money. Several people at the scene of the accident went on official record to say that the owner of the business where the accident occurred complained freely at the scene "We can't afford another lawsuit"; furthermore the passenger of the vehicle that pulled in front of Joe went to the police the day after the accident and told them that she told him to lie to police about what happened. Months later (after he had moved from the area) he flew back here from Alabama to be deposed and under oath told the same story that he told the police.

There is nothing that I can do about her abhorrent conduct. The police built a case against her and attempted to have her indicted but the (overburdened) county attorney did not pursue the case. All of that is completely out of my hands. But man, it feels like there should be something that I could do. It just feels so wrong. How can a person be so disgustingly heartless and wretched? Seriously, how?

I know her pathetic existence should have no bearing on my life. No matter what happens with her it does not change my circumstance. It's just....it's an anger in my heart that has not lessened with time.

The delicate dance of reality

2009-08-24T21:18:00.004-04:00

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Tomorrow my daughter starts Kindergarten.

For a while now I've been just kind of glossing over the whole thing in my head, mostly focusing on how early school starts and how summer is cut short, not letting my mind go there in terms of what it all will be like; not focusing on what I would be focusing on, talking about, thinking about if Joe were here. Which would be all-out, this is a big deal, Alyssa is starting school. Real school. If things were "normal" this would be an event in our house. I know that because it the natural pull of my thoughts, to make it a big deal. But every time I start to feel how big it is, I put it aside, tell myself to not think about it, because along with the bigness of it, is pain.

So I just try to make a "thing" in my head. Instead of an "event".

Am I crazy? Honestly, I don't know if I make any sense.

My general take on events that could be painful is
"don't think, just DO".

For a while that strategy was an honest to goodness survival technique in terms of getting through my days. If I allowed myself to truly experience every big event that has occurred in the past two years I would not have been able to function at most of them. And my children, they wouldn't have been able to experience things the way they have been able to if their mother was carrying on like a basket case. It just seemed to be the most logical way to handle things for the three of us.....for me not to think too deeply.

I have actual conversations in my mind when I start to feel weepy at an event. I talk to myself about something completely unrelated and get myself out of whatever situation is going on. I avoid the present.

This takes away from experiencing things in my life. I don't want to look back anymore than I already will and not be able to remember the details of "what happened when ____" (fill in the blank). But honestly, when will it not hurt?

I try my best to allow my children the excitement, accomplishment and thrill of events and new things in their lives. Tomorrow I'll take Alyssa's picture and bring her to school. But it will all feel shallow to me..............going through the motions, not allowing myself to think or feel what is really going on. I'll keep my mind going to the next thing that needs to be done. Because honestly, if I were to be truthful with her, and show her what I am really feeling on this day of joy, I would cry and hold her hands and tell her how sorry I am that her daddy is not here to take her picture with her. I can't do that to her on her first day of school. So instead of a fully present, in-the-moment mommy, she will get a "fake" and avoiding the situation mommy. Hmmm. I wonder if she can tell?

2009-08-13T23:59:00.005-04:00

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Joe died at 5:30 on an extremely hot Wednesday Summer afternoon.

I was at a fabric store buying material to make curtains for our bedroom at camp. I know exactly where I was because I kept checking the time since we were suppose to both be home around 6. For dinner. On the grill. Then some drinks. And time for just the two of us in our house. Obviously that joyful night never happened.

Yesterday was a hot Wednesday Summer afternoon. There was a time when I knew, week after week, when 5:30 on a Wednesday came around. Thankfully most of them go by now, without me reliving the (tragic) moments. Though I look forward to a day when every Wednesday goes by, without me reliving the (tragic) moments. Yesterday I remembered vividly. Partly because of the weather, partly because I was alone without my kids (rare), partly because of the day of the week, partly because of where I was going- back to the fabric store. I've only been there one other time since the accident. You wouldn't think that a store would mean anything, but really, for some reason it does.

When I think about this stuff, I start to have silly thoughts, like, "what if I go there and something bad happens again?" These are just thoughts that my mind wanders to. Not real, rational, believable type stuff; just my mind going over the possibilities, for what purpose, I don't know. As it worked out I was at the fabric store in the late afternoon and traveling home afterwards, the same route I traveled the day of the accident at the same time of day. So it all was all on my mind as I rode home, by myself, just like I did on that day.

When I got to an intersection, one in which I make the choice to go around where Joe died (as I chose to do for a solid year) or right by it, I chose the shortest route, which is right by it. I go that way probably 50% of the time now. On the 1-mile stretch of road between the turn and the accident scene, I feel every twist and turn and think "these are the last turns I made as my old self"; "this is the road where my beautiful life- as I knew it- ended; and finally, "this the the last hill I climbed before everything changed".

When I got to the top of the hill that day in 2007, I saw commotion from afar. "Oh an accident" I thought to myself. As I got closer I could see a police officer directing traffic. Cars parked around the road where they would not be normally parked. People standing around, on their lawns and in front of their businesses. And finally, as I approached the intersection where I would make my turn, I turned and looked to the right, down the road and saw it.....a bike down. On the pavement. The same color as Joe's. The same road he'd be coming home on. There were so many people around, cars, police cruisers, commotion. All of it was fuzzy for a moment while I looked at that bike on the pavement. My body instantly went numb. And I turned left.

I prayed the whole way home. No, no, no. Don't let it be him.

And so it began. My new life.

Yesterday as I made the turns of that road on my way home, I remembered all the usual things...I kept telling myelf to stop. "Put it out of your head Robin." Why keep reliving it? Put away the similarities of the day; of the time of day; of where you just were; of being alone in the car. In my mind I was telling myself to stop focusing on the similarities. But as I got to the top of the hill, once again I saw from a distance commotion ahead. I saw a man in the road directing traffic. People standing around. As I got closer I saw a banged up car. And another one on the other side of the road. I did not see anyone hurt, and I don't believe that anyone was seriously hurt. I got to the intersection and had to sit and wait. I looked around at some of the people standing outside of their businesses and homes and wondered.....did they do this when my husband died? Are these faces that I am seeing now the same ones that witnessed the scene and aftermath of my own husband's death? For a second I thought about driving around the cars in front of me to just get the hell out of there. But I waited and took some deep breaths. And when it was time for me to move, I turned left.

I wondered, as I kept driving towards my house, why did that have to happen? Why today? And my answer.....Life is cruel sometimes. It just is.

Two Years

2009-07-25T05:00:00.005-04:00

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Still can't....

Listen to Pearl Jam in our house.

Delete your last emails to me.

See or hear a motorcycle without thinking of you and what happened.

Drive past the spot where you died without feeling an intense feeling of not knowing what to do.

Bring our children to the cemetery.

Go through your hockey bag.

Look at videos of you.

Get over the fact that you, my closest love in the entire world, died on the pavement.

Get over the fact that you, my closest love in the entire world, died without me there.

Look at pictures of you without holding my breath.

Make peace with the reality that our children will grow up without you.

Go to a school event without you and have it feel normal.

Change my facebook status to single.

Make your closet mine.

Take your sign off the garage.

Process all the things that died that day along with you.

Be anything other than devastated at how "we" ended.
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Two years is a long time in some respects, but not when it comes to the death of someone you love deeply. I don't know if my mind will ever truly heal from the shock, horror and tragedy of what happened two years ago. And I don't know if my heart can ever heal from being so brutally betrayed by life.
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2009-07-20T23:55:00.001-04:00

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ugh.
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2009-07-16T22:37:00.002-04:00

courage does not always roar.
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sometimes courage is the quiet voice
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at the end of the day saying,
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"I will try again tomorrow"

Mary Anne Radmacher

2009-07-02T14:15:00.004-04:00

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When all the commotion and chaos of preparation clears, I feel the ache and deep emptiness that leaves me short of breath. Going on vacation without him. It's too much.
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2009-06-25T23:41:00.004-04:00

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One year for Christmas Joe gave me a box of perfumes that he went to great lengths and traveled all over the state for. This always seemed a little weird to me because, well, generally speaking I don't wear perfume. I liked it just the same, and appreciated his effort. When he gave the box to me I took one of the little bottles out as the first one to use and it's been on my desk for probably 4 years. It's still almost full. The other day I was sitting at my desk and I picked up the bottle, held it in my hand as I remembered when he gave it to me. For the first time I looked closely at the tiny letters that formed the name of the scent. It is:

"heavenly".
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2009-06-20T20:57:00.003-04:00

All the end of the year stuff with the kids is hard. Alyssa graduating from preschool (silly I know but still a ceremony which I attend without my husband), field trips, field day, another school year ended, a new summer beginning, just all that stuff that reminds me of what my kids and I are missing. And Father's Day....can someone please make all the Father's Day talk STOP?! Everywhere I look there's a sign or a commercial or an ad or something. It rips my heart out to think of my kids seeing/hearing those things. --I know, I know-- the world doesn't revolve around my family. And I'm sure many different holidays bring up the same emotion for other families for their own specific reasons. And I know there are lots of great and wonderful fathers out there (like my own) that deserve their special day. I know all that, but still, Father's Day hurts a lot.

Luke said to me this morning "I want to give my book (a book he made at school) to Uncle Jeff for Father's Day". He said it very confidently and I was both surprised and not surprised when he said it.

I was not surprised because I have told my kids time and again that if all the kids are making something for their fathers at school at any time of the year, they can make something for another man they love, one of their grandfathers or an Uncle, etc. (**I am gigantically simplifying this last statement because we have had long and many talks about this kind of stuff in which I think about/prepare in advance). Anyway, last year Luke's teacher did not do anything specific for Fathers Day, which she said was out of respect for Luke. I thought that was extremely kind of her, as it was his first year without his dad and I was entirely unsure of what it would be like. This year the kids in Luke's class didn't do anything big either but they did talk about Father's Day to some degree (it helps that it falls at an extremely busy time of year--end of school). I hate thinking about my little boy in class during discussions about Father's Day. But it is a fact of (his) life.

So, the reason why I was surprised that Luke told me he wanted to give his book to Uncle Jeff was because his tone was very "un"sad and very confident of what he wanted to do, and it was entirely unprovoked. He just came up to me and told me. Luke generally is pretty lackadaisical about this kind of stuff-giving gifts-as I am sure many 7-year-olds boys are. I don't think he's ever had something and said "I want to give this to mommy" (absolutely no offense taken either, I want my kids to do their acts of love/kindess towards me in a completely unprompted way). I was surprised because of Luke's own thought and desire to do something kind for his Uncle on Father's Day.

So I guess while he's sitting there in class, and they are talking about Father's Day, maybe he was thinking of what he does have instead of what he doesn't have. And what he does have is an unbelievably loving, energetic, committed and reliable Uncle. There's nothing sad about that.

2009-06-11T20:20:00.004-04:00

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I am curious, how is everyone else doing in terms of Joe's death? Do you think about it more, less, that same? Does it hurt more, less, the same? Is anyone moving towards peace? Has anyone had any experiences that have given them comfort? Is it "normal" to anyone that this has happened? (normal not in a negative way but I guess do you have more of an acceptance of him being gone than you did?).

I know everyone misses him deeply, that goes without saying. But the pain, has it decreased for you?
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2009-06-08T22:31:00.000-04:00

When I think about our situation as a family of three now, I feel like I am so grateful that Joe and I have (had?) 2 children. Going through this with only one child seems like it would be so much harder.

As much as they drive me absolutely nuts lately with their bickering and fighting, I am so glad that they have each other. They are so opposite in so many ways, including how they display their emotion about the loss of their father. Alyssa does not go more than a few days without mentioning her daddy in some context. If it isn't a story, or a simple sentence, or a question about him, it is a quiet declaration of "I miss daddy".

Luke rarely mentions Joe. When he does, it always takes me a little by (pleasant) surprise. It's weird because Luke and Joe were very close and he has way more memories of his father than Alyssa does. When I ask him what he thinks about daddy he says he misses him but he doesn't think about him much. I do believe that Luke is telling the truth, but I also worry because I believe that when he thinks of his dad, if it feels painful to him, he tries to put it out of his head.

Luke is a thinker and that has been apparent at least since the age of 3. He is constantly sizing up whatever situation he is heading into before he decides if he's going to take part in it. He understands better than Alyssa what "death" means and the enormity of it. He was 6 years and 6 days when his daddy died. I think his mind is still taking it all in in small doses and when it gets too much for him he shuts it off. I know kids can do that. I just worry....because I am his mother....and I want him find a way to deal with this so that it doesn't come out negatively later in life. I can't tell you how often I wonder how my kids are doing mentally with this loss. I just have no way to tell.

One night on the way home from group Luke made a comment though that really gave me hope that **he is okay** and everything will be fine. He was talking about something that happened- and it was all kind of vague- but the idea was that a child in his group strongly expressed sadness that his/her parent had died. Luke kind of acted like he couldn't relate to what the child was feeling, but not because he doesn't love and miss Joe, but because (he said...with certainty):

"I just feel like he is up there mommy. I just feel like he is there."

Obviously it is impossible to convey Luke's tone by writing it, but the way he said it made me think that this kid feels his father with him. Still. I have never said or felt the way Luke said he was feeling, so I know he wasn't repeating back to me something he's heard me say. This was all him and it was 100% expressive truthfulness and the most real thing that I have heard him say about Joe's death. It was crazy to me to hear and it made me think- for the first time- that maybe my son is so unapparently phased by the death of his father because Joe is actually helping him deal in some way.

I don't even know how or if that is possible. But I know that intellectually speaking it would be Luke that needed the most help dealing with Joe's death out of the three of us. Alyssa was barely 3 when it happened and I think that Joe would have confidence in me that I would make it through somehow. But Luke....Joe was his buddy, his playmate, his joy and smile and his yes-man. How could Luke sustain this blow with so little resistance? If it is possible, and Joe is still with him in his little head, in his dreams, in his unconscious thoughts, somehow, anyhow, then it all makes a little more sense.

I have never felt Joe's presence since he died. Never. It is sad to me. But, at the same time, if he is with Luke then that thought gives me an unbelievabe amount of comfort. It's just one way of looking at it, but it's a way that explains a lot to me.

2009-06-04T22:37:00.003-04:00

Luke called me "hun" because that's what he always heard his daddy call me. I guess he kinda thought that was my name.

Kids can learn a lot about relationships by how their parents treat each other. They see how two people act when they are in love; when they are repectful toward each other; when they are teasing; when the are mad at each other. I think kids learn a lot of stuff subconsciously by watching their parents interact.

I was completely satisfied and proud of the relationship that Joe and I had when it came to what we were showing our children. I thought of it while it was happening, while Joe was here. We had each other's backs so to speak when it came to the kids. If they were acting disrespectfully towards one of us, the other one always spoke up in their defense. "Don't talk to mommy that way" -or- "don't say no to your father when he asks you to do something". No matter what was going on in our own relationship, if we were feeling aggravated with each other for some reason, we never, ever let that get in the way of treating the other parent with the respect they deserved.

I know not every child has two loving parents in the home for a whole range of reasons. And I know that most of them turn out just fine and capable of having loving relationships. It just that.....my kids had it....Joe and I were here and living a great life, ready to parent, loving each other, displaying affection, having arguments, working out problems....all in plain view for our kids to see. But now they don't have that anymore. I hate it.

I am aware that as kids grow up they become more disenchanted with their parents by the week. I know that I have truly great kids. But sometimes I feel so upset that Joe is not here to help me with all of this, and I wonder how and what would be different if he were here to show the kids how their mother should be treated. Would they roll their eyes less? Would they argue with me less when I ask them to do something? Would they still blatanty claim they "didn't hear me" when I tell them something? I guess....probably not. But I'll just never know about that. What I do know is that at least there would be someone there finishing the argument with me. And all the battles wouldn't be mine to fight.

"Group" is done.

2009-06-03T20:48:00.004-04:00

The Tuesday night bereavement group that the kids and I were attending is over. I can't believe it's been 10 weeks already. If you remember we were all in separate age-appropriate groups. We met a lot of great people I think all three of us benefited from it.

It's weird how it works for the kids, and honestly, I don't know specifically how or why it works, but it does work. Every time we left after group the kids were happy, energized and seemed to really enjoy themselves. I think that it was just good for them to see and hear the stories of other children who had lost a parent, to know that they are not alone. They did not sit around and talk and cry (like the adults often do), everything was very project oriented and allowed the kids to express themselves as much or as little as they wanted to each week. Everything in each group is confidential, the facilitators can not/do not tell what your child talked about. Because of that, I don't have any big revelations in terms of what they talked about in the loss of their father. All I know is that the whole experience seemed positive for them and I do believe that they got something good out of going.

I was so happily surprised to see Luke equally as content going to group as Alyssa. I worried a little at the beginning because he hates crafty type stuff and would much prefer to be playing something....a game or a sport or something like that...but he didn't ever complain about it. Alyssa loooooved every moment because she makes crafts and talks all day on any regular day, so to do that with other 4 and 5 year olds with whom she shared a unique connection was great for her. Obviously kids don't have the capacity to sit and talk about their feelings about loss, but it seems that just sitting next to someone "like them" and coloring might tie a strong bond that in some way helps them to heal.

This is also the end of my own personal group "marathon"....and honestly I was ready to be done. In additon to the previous 10 weeks of young widow/widowers, you may remember I was also in another smaller group of widows that lasted 6 weeks. So I've been 4 straight months of working through stuff and I've got to say it is hard work. Lots of times I would dread going but I was usually glad that I went when it was over.

The reason why I call it "hard work" is because it causes me to face stuff each week that maybe I might not be thinking about otherwise. It causes a lot more thoughts throughout the week pertaining to the loss and the accident itself. What it does is really not allow me to sweep it under the rug so to speak and put it away. As much as I want to be done with these dreaded feelings, I do want to deal with them and think them through so that some day (when, I have no idea) they do not feel so painful and so that they do not eventually bubble to the surface and damage my future happiness.

The other reason why I call it "hard work" is because I have sat in several groups now and listened to so many people's losses. This is really, really sad stuff to hear and exhausting sometimes to think about. Disease, suicide, accidents and even murder. All circumstances are different. Everyone is struggling and looking for answers. But really there are none. There are commonalities that hold us all together. The things you cannot explain to people who have not lost a spouse. Somehow through the common bond comes a little bit of comfort. I cannot tell you how I wish I did not qualify for this kind of group, but I am thankful that they exist, and I am humbled by all the brave people who come to share their stories.

I did have one pretty awful experience at a session a few weeks ago. Sometimes things hit you by surprise when you are talking at these things. Topics that you didn't think bothered you anymore are suddenly extremely painful. At one point during this particular meeting we were talking about what was coming up for everyone the following week, which was to include Memorial Day weekend. When I started talking about what I would be doing, which was going to camp in VT, suddenly my eyes began to sting and the tears poured out. I could not stop crying, even after I had stopped talking.

Camp is a difficult subject for me. Last summer almost every trip up there I cried quietly behind my sunglasses with the kids in the back seat. Camp is the last place I saw Joe. The last place I kissed him. The last place I saw him with our children. The last place I slept next to him. It is where we spent so, so many good times before and after we had kids. It's the place where he asked me to marry him. And Memorial Day weekend is the weekend that he did it. I didn't consciously think that it all was still so painful. But I guess based on my reaction at my group I still am grappling with it. When I am at camp I busy my mind with nothingness, just trying to steer clear of anything that could send me over the edge. It's a fine line to mentally navigate. And I know that it bubbles just below the surface for many people there.

I wonder what it is like for my kids that the last time they saw their father was at camp and then they just.....never...saw....him....again. I am so sorry that it happened this way. I am sure when they grow up they will be able to explain to me better about what this was all like for them.

I met some great people in the last 4 months. I think about them all the time. And I pray that there is peace somewhere in their futures.

2009-05-14T09:56:00.001-04:00

Steve:

Thank you for your comment and nice wishes. I would not say this part of my life (the grieving part) has become any less significant. Some things are better, some things hurt the same, some hurt more. My lack of posts is more due to an overwhelmed mental state that I feel. I have a thousand thoughts during a day stuff to write about, but obviously I am with at least one of my children most of every day, and so when it comes time at night to post, I feel like I don't want to relive whatever thoughts I have had that day again. It's weird, and hard to explain.

Ironically, recently I have gone through some hard weeks in my own head.....a lot of what I would call mental anguish. I'm sure I've said before on this blog that I feel like I battle two things....the grief of the loss of my husband and my children's father (obviously a huge thing), and the traumatic thoughts/memories of the day it happened. What happens is that out of nowhere I'll have a traumatic thought come into my head and the only way that I can describe it is to say that it affects my mood and how I relate to everything around me at that time. After I have relived the memory to some degree, and as quickly as possible talked myself out of it ("think of something else"), I fall into a black hole of despair and then I go about my day, trying to crawl back out of that hole. Until I feel normal again....it's a process.....and a battle, and it's generally unrecognizable to most people around me.

Ugh, it sounds awful written down. But that's the best way I can describe how I feel. It all happens behind the conversations and smiles and "stuff" that makes up my days. But behind the scenes it's me against my memory and thoughts.

On the brighter side of things, I can see some changes in other areas that are becoming more consistent in my life. It used to be that Joe was on my mind pretty much every moment, everything that happened I thought about in terms of him not being here to experience. What he didn't see, what he didn't hear, what he was missing, what he should be doing, etc. This provided me with a constant simultaneous joy/pain type of scenario. I would say that I still have that scenario present, but it is now more delayed. The best way to describe it is to give an example.

On Monday Luke got his first hit of the baseball season. He's had 3 or 4 games and every time he improves in some little way that probably only his mother sees. So Luke was up at bat and had two strikes and the ball was pitched and I thought "Pleeeeeeeease, just let this kid connect with the ball" and -CRACK-, he did! It was a beautiful sound that I am sure all parents of little ball players can relate to. Luke watched the ball fly high into the air..........and then.......into a player's glove. It was caught, but it didn't matter...Luke's eyes turned straight to me for a few seconds before he ran back to the dugout and the pride on his face was priceless. It was a great moment, a stepping stone in his baseball life.

A year ago I would have been experiencing that whole thing through Joe's eyes. Joy of what was happening and pain that Luke's father can not see him in what he was doing, all at the same time. When it happened on Monday I experienced it on my own, through my own eyes and I felt joy and pride by itself. It was later that the pain set in of what was missing in the picture. Still deep pain and sadness and it hurts no less than it ever has. But the pain is becoming separate, which I believe is a step forward in some small way.

2009-05-04T21:58:00.004-04:00

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I will love you forever Joe.
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2009-04-24T11:11:00.004-04:00

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Today, April 24, I have been alive as many days as Joe was in his entire life.
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2009-04-21T22:16:00.002-04:00

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I must admit I've had a few chuckles over the title of my last post. The day after I wrote it I looked as it again and I was like, "WOW". In real life I am not as miserable as my posts as of late seem. It's just one side of me, a side that needs a voice so that can get all this nasty stuff out of my brain.

~Robin

Turning 5 and other things I hate

2009-04-13T22:01:00.000-04:00

These posts are sooooooooooo depressing.

Anyway, here's another pick-me-up.

For the past few months I have had this agonizing little thought in my head about my daughter turning 5. I have never talked about it to anyone but for some reason it is really hitting me hard. Both of my children are "kids" now, nothing babyish about them anymore. Sure, Alyssa still has some things that linger...she is still learning lots of basics, still says some words incorrectly, etc, but really, the baby days, toddler days and soon to be pre-school days are gone. Soon she will be in kindergarten.

After Joe and I had Alyssa we pretty much thought we were done having kids. At some point Joe started to make comments that **maybe** he wanted more. I told him that I was 98% sure that I wanted to be all done having babies, I told him he had 2% to make his case. The way I felt about it was that I really did not want to ever be pregnant again, but, I would love to have a bigger family and so maybe, just maybe I might be coaxed into it.....but really it was a longshot.

That was as far as we got. Then he died.

I honestly don't know what would have happened if he was still here. Would I have another baby? Would I be pregnant again? I know that if Joe really, really, REALLY wanted to have another baby I would have gone through with it. I know that because there is nothing that I would not do for him. I know that another baby would have been a huge sacrifice and a lot of work for us (and by "us" I mean, mostly me), but in the long run it would be completely worth it. Because, children and family are a beautiful thing.

So back to Alyssa turning 5.....It is sad for me in way because I know that one part of my life is over. I suppose every woman goes through something similar, and many women's choices about when to stop having children are taken away from them for all different types of reasons. It just sucks to think about.

And the bigger issue for me is that I feel like I just missed 2 years of Alyssa's life. Yes, I was here with her the whole time, but I was so far away. Unable to find it in myself to be present in a way that I would have been if Joe had not died. I feel like yesterday she was 3 and we had our family and she was my baby. And now she is 5, going to school and the last two years are a fog. I hate it.

My relationship with my children has changed over the past 2 years. I have spent most of that time in what feels like an all-business mentality, constantly working on the necessities of their lives. Making sure they had opportunities to have fun, with other people, but rarely with me. I hate that.

My kids and I have certain rituals, silly little things that we do as only the three of us when we are alone. Things that no one would know about except the three of us. Those things have an element of fear for me now. What if something were to happen to me and those rituals turn to painful thoughts for them? Into more empty voids in their lives? It sounds completely insane and crazy but I've seen it happen. Joe used to go up to say goodnight to Luke after I did every night. As Joe was leaving his room he would say "I love you" to Luke. After Luke said it back to him, Joe would make a silly noise as he was walking down the hall. Luke would laugh. Every night. Every night they would do this. Every night since Joe died when I leave Luke's room after saying goodnight to him I feel that void and my heart aches for my son. I know he remembers. And I know it's the little things that hurt the most. I hate that.

I know you can't stop living for fear of what might happen. But after you suffer a tragedy, the thought seems to be always there. The knowledge of what could happen and how it would feel. I hate it that I know what that's like.

2009-04-07T21:26:00.011-04:00

Recently I was given a handout about grief with several bullet points. One said:

If the death was unexpected, some say that the second year is even more difficult.
To be honest I've heard this before in other books I've read. But I always rejected it. A year ago if I heard that statement, in my head I would be thinking "No WAY will I let myself feel WORSE in the second year." I would cringe when I heard people talk about it being years before grief eased up. My honest heartfelt and real reaction to that statement was:

No. It won't be that way.

Honestly in the first year (and I cannot believe I am talking about this situation in terms of years) I think that everything was so focused on getting through stuff. First holidays, first anniversary dates, first days of getting used to a life for me and Luke and Alyssa in which Joe was not here. So many things to figure out.

I think that I had a little break from the pain last summer in which I kind of felt like I was just not allowing myself to feel the pain. Don't get me wrong, I thought about Joe all the time, but at the same time I was truly rejecting grief in a way, focusing on something different for a while. I remember getting daily emails from the first grief group I did (just little sayings or thoughts) and I remember every day I'd get them out of my inbox as fast as I could and think "I am DONE with grief". I was running.

I think during the summer there was also a sense (though never consciously a thought) of "I did it" in terms of getting through the first year. I am not saying that in a boastful way, more of a "phew (wipe your hand across your forehead and exhaustedly fall into a chair), I did it". It's a weird thing for an intelligent person to have.....of course we know there is no end, there is no "did". The high of "I did it" ends quickly when you realize that month after month the pain, emptiness, sadness wear on; that every morning you still get out of bed alone. With grief, I am not sure there is or will ever be an "I did it" with a true feeling of closure and all rounded accomplishment. Does anyone know, is there?

The second year has truly been a struggle. Different from the first. In the first year I struggled with what happened, how it happened, where it happened, going over the day a million times, trying to make some sense of it all, trying to figure out the day-to-day living, doing all the paperwork and legalities, trying to figure out my kids and I apart from Joe. The first year was very much about the present and getting through it and a lot of focus on that horrible event in the past. The second year has also been about the present, but more trying to savor it (hard and sad because I feel dull to everything because I constantly think of what is missing), but also coming to grips with a/the future and trying to make sense of what that will be. Looking at the future, it seems, at least for me, is more difficult than looking at the past. How that can be possible I don't know. But I can tell you that I feel overwhelmed, sad, angry, confused and depressed when thinking about the state of my life right now. I feel like it's just not going anywhere....same stuff, different day, and no plan for what I am doing it all for. Yes, I know what the obvious answer is, I am raising my children. And yes, it's an important role and I am honored to be here for those two great kids, but......what about Robin? When does her life begin again? And understand that question is asked with great pain because I don't want to begin again. I had all this stuff wrapped up years ago. Done. Moving on.

"Not so fast" says the universe. And POOF, everything changes. Life as I knew it, gone in an instant.

I don't want to feel this way. Why can't I look at the future with hope and positivity? As a wide open canvas in which I can do anything and everything that I want? Why can't I feel joy the way I used to? I have so many gifts in my life, it is so full in so many ways. Why can I not feel the beauty in it all?

2009-03-25T00:10:00.005-04:00

Tonight my kids had a short meeting each for their counseling groups they will be attending in the coming months. In Alyssa's group of 4-year-olds there will be 6 kids that lost a parent. In Luke's group of 7-9 year-olds there are 8 kids with various losses.

I went in with each of them separately for their meeting. I can't quite describe what it is like to sit in a chair next to your 4-year-old daughter and hear her say her daddy died in a motorcycle accident. The little body, the little face, the sweet young voice.
The terrible words.

I have been struggling lately for several different reasons I think. I don't need anything specifically. I am just finding myself to be very angry with my husband. It is something that I hesitate to write about here because I know many of you knew and love him very much. And so do I. But what is different from me and you is that I was his wife (a role that commands various degrees of respect from people). And I am doing the work that he left behind. You are not. Only I see the pictures my kids bring home of three people in our family and have it rip my heart out every time. Only I have conversations with them over and over about how their daddy died, about death in general and about when others will die. Only I bare the responsibility of taking care of this life that we built together, which is logistically a lot of work. Only I lay awake at night wondering how my children's young minds process death and worry about things like whether they might do something crazy and "in the moment" in order to see their daddy again, not understanding the permanence of death. Only I had to go through his belongings and give them away. Only I am left dealing with probate lawyers and judges and paperwork and doing stupid stuff that could have been avoided had we had a will. I could go on with this list for hours, and trust me, these things are not even close to being the most painful things I deal with. Only I am living this life, which is a tangled web of deep love, yes, for Joe, but a lot of work for me. And not work that I want to do. Not the life that I ever wanted or want to live. It's just not. And it did not have to be this way.

Over and over Joe and I had conversations about how risky it was to be riding a motorcycle. I know he was doing nothing wrong that day. But riding a bike leaves you vulnerable. And he had two young children and a wife. But he chose it anyway.

Look, I am the first person to tell you that I believe that a person should live the life that they want to live. That is why I would never hold Joe back from living and doing something that he loved, like riding his bike. But damn, why did he have to want that? Why couldn't he have looked at me and Luke and Alyssa and decided it wasn't worth it?

If he could have seen his daughter's innocent little face say those words tonight I bet he would have wished he made a different choice. No matter how good riding felt to him, there is nothing worth hearing those words from your child's mouth. But he doesn't have to see her there. Only I do.

And yeah, right now I am pretty pissed about it.

2009-03-11T20:52:00.004-04:00

I've been going to my young widow group every week. Each week I dread it, and wonder why, why, why do I do this to myself??? Then after it's over I am glad I went. There are 8 people, and everyone is great. I do like that it is focused on only widows since the first group I did last year was a mixture of different types of losses. I do believe there is strength in numbers, being a widow is something only another widow could possibly begin to truly understand. I am not saying that other losses are less painful, I am saying that widowhood puts you in a unique situation in so many aspects. Too many to explain to anyone, but when you look at another widow, they know.

Two weeks ago was a bad week at the group for me. I had not anticipated it at all. We had homework, which was to basically describe our spouse to let the group know more about them. Also, we could bring in pictures and/or something that they loved. We had specific questions to answer such as what roles we each played in the relationship, what influenced us, what irritated us, etc... When we first got the assignment I thought, easy, piece of cake. I left it til last minute because I was sick that week. Well, not really, I probably still would have left it til last minute because that's just what I usually do. So Thursday afternoon, I sat down, wrote my stuff, printed it out and figured I'd just use some pictures I had in my car.

When it was my turn to go, all of a sudden I looked at my paper and I did not get through the first sentence without my voice cracking. Two sentences in and the facilitator asked me if I wanted someone else to read it for me. "No", I said, "I can do it if you just bear with me". Every word was a struggle to get out. I couldn't believe I was literally falling apart in this room under these conditions. It was awful. The stuff I was reading was just typical Joe, typical stuff about him and nothing new or earth shattering that I haven't thought/said a million times before.

At this point I pretty much chalk the whole scene up to the end of a stressful week full of sick kids, sick me, tiredness and the aching feeling that my husband never walks through the door. You'd think that at this point I'd be used to it. Sometimes I think, God, it's been so long, shouldn't this be easier by now? I think about myself and how I handle things, how I handle my life now, living alone, being a single mother, grieving, trying to think about a future, trying to hold onto the moment, trying to make sense of everything and I still just can't.

None of it still makes sense to me. Will it ever?

My husband, Joe, was the most ALIVE person I know. When I look at pictures of him, I think, my God, he was so ALIVE. He was unafraid of the world and curious about everything around him. He loved to try new things. He was a person who sought out a thrill. He flew airplanes, he rode his motorcycle, he wakeboarded, snowboarded, and he played hockey his whole life. He was the person that, in a crowd would raise his hand high to volunteer for anything; and by the end of the act in which he volunteered for, he’d have the whole crowd cheering for him, whether they previously knew him or not. What made everyone love him was that he tried everything and he was never afraid to look like a fool. He was not a superstar, he was a regular guy, loving life.
My husband's love for living was thoroughly enjoyed by our children. He was their "yes” man. When he came home every night the first thing he did was hit the floor and start playing. He missed them while he was at work, and he couldn’t wait to get home to us. I don’t feel I have the words to adequately describe what kind of father he was, however, I often found myself thinking how lucky they were to have him as a father and wondered from the time they were babies what kind of people they would grow up to be with him as their dad.
My husband was a hard worker but left his work at the door. He rarely came home in a bad mood and I was always the one to initiate conversation about the details of the company. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk about it, he’d just rather be talking and thinking about things that he enjoyed more. With the business, he always seemed to feel that everything would work out in the end, and it always did for him.
My husband was very loving towards me. We were together 12 years, married for 4 days short of 7. He used to look in my eyes and thank me for our children. He told me he loved me all the time. He appreciated me and the sacrifices I made to stop working while our kids were young. After we had children he used to insist on us going away together on little mini-trips to spend time alone. Even when we it wasn’t convenient and would have been easier to just stay home. When he died we were in one of the closest, most loving, wonderful periods in all of our years together.
My husband was extremely generous. If someone needed help with something they always seemed to ask Joe. And he always complied if at all possible. He liked the connections he made working with people and he had many, many friends. When our niece relapsed with Leukemia at age 4 it was devastating for our whole family. Joe and I pulled together and did some pretty amazing things during that time. He wanted to begin a charity motorcycle ride to help his sister’s family and also other families in similar situations. We worked hard on that project together and we raised thousands of dollars for families in need. It was a project that was close to his heart and he did it in an extremely selfless manner.
My husband was not perfect. On a Saturday morning, more often than not, somehow he would be the one to sleep in while I would get up with the kids. Somehow he didn’t hear them. That irritated me sometimes. Since I took care of the finances in the family, there were some times when he would literally stand over my shoulder, looking at my spreadsheet of bills and ask me “where all the money went”. That made me crazy, which brings me to the next thing, which was that he always wanted something MORE. He would talk about things…..Lets get a boat, a camp, new snowmobiles, a sportscar, and it drove me crazy. My husband provided well for us financially and we lived comfortably and our future was bright, but money only goes so far. When I tried to tell him this, instead of saying “Okay, we don’t need that”, his answer was “I’ll make more money”. Looking back on it, that answer just fit his lifestyle of not wanting to be held back from living. I always looked at it as being too materialisitic. He kept us moving forward though, and I kept us grounded and appreciating what we had.
My husband’s role could be characterized in a word as FUN and my role would be characterized as PRACTICAL. He was such a big picture type of thinker and I would tend to the details. He would have the idea and I would make it happen. He provided financially for our family, and I took care of the house and everything in it. I have always done all the painting, shoveling, roofraking and hiring of contractors when in need around our house which I think helped the changeover to widowhood a little less stressful for me. There were three things that Joe regularly did pertaining to the house—he mowed the lawn….he went to the dump on the weekend…and he carried the laundry up the stairs. At some point a few months after he died, I tackled my "phobia" of the dump and it is now something that I actually enjoy doing most weekends (don’t ask me how that’s possible). I also now like to cut the grass and finally understand his obsession with keeping it the right length. But every time I carry a heavy basket of laundry up the stairs I think of him and miss him. It's the little things that hurt. The things that seem stupid to even mention.

2009-03-05T07:35:00.004-05:00

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Here's the article in the paper today regarding the denial of the appeal.
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2009-03-04T16:13:00.000-05:00

Judge Tucker ruled to uphold Jeremy Kean’s 3-year license suspension. I have no other details other than the suspension is reinstated as of midnight on the 6th of March. The lawyer is sending me a copy of the ruling with the judge’s comments.

Kean could appeal again, with the Supreme Court, involving the Attorney General. That would happen within 30 days if he’s going to do it. I can’t believe that he would do that, but who knows. People always surprise me. If it happens, I’ll let you know.

Thanks again to everyone.

2009-02-21T22:04:00.005-05:00

I cleaned out Joe's closets on Valentine's day night. The kids were at Meme and Papa's for a party so it seemed like as good a time as any to do it. You may remember that I did the bedroom last summer. This stuff is not fun.

Joe did not have a lot of "stuff". He used to say to me "You know the difference between a man and a woman when it comes to buying stuff Robin? Women buy little things here and there on sale or whatever.... couple bucks here, couple bucks there and men don't do that. Men just skip all that little shit and want the big stuff". That was basically his line of defense when telling me about all the things he wanted to buy. For years it drove me crazy, he'd get on kicks and talk about them constantly for months (I want a boat. I want a sports car. I want a camp. I want a motorcycle. I want a new snowmobile. I want a boat...). I noticed after a few years it was all cyclical. He'd be on a kick or a while, want something and within a few months he'd be onto something else, acting like the first thing was SO OUT and this new thing, THIS is what he really wanted. After a while it didn't bother me anymore. I just waited it all out with the seasons. And truthfully I waited it out with a lot of eye rolling. Afterall, one of my favorite sayings that I have had on my desk for probably 10 years is:

"Happiness is not getting what you want,
but wanting what you have".

I believe that Joe and I were good together because he kept us moving forward....never seeing any impossibility in having or doing anything, and I kept us grounded, remembering to appreciate what we already had. It was a good mix of both. Too much contentment can leave you stagnant; too much yearning for more can leave you not appreciating anything. We were good together.

When I was going through the stuff in his closet I came across this scrap of paper. I wrote this note to him while I was in labor, minutes before we left for the hospital, and I left it on his bureau for him to find some time later. We never talked about it, and truthfully I had forgotten about it until I came across it last week:

I have been crying about this piece of paper all week. A part of me does not know why it makes me so sad, and part of me can list you a thousand different reasons why.

2009-02-20T11:08:00.005-05:00

The judge will give his decision sometime in the next few weeks about the appeal. I had assumed he would make his decision directly after hearing both sides yesterday but that's not how it works I guess. There is a an aricle in the paper today outlining the pathetic arguments (that were also pathetically argued I might add) made by the driver and his lawyer.

I am also very touched today thinking about the faces that I saw yesterday in the courtroom. I know that you were all there for Joe, but honestly, it warms my heart to know that he is not forgotten. It means a lot to know you all still carry a piece of him with you, and that you are willing to take time out of your busy lives for him still.

He was such a great guy.
There are just no words to describe what we lost that day.

2009-02-19T09:58:00.006-05:00

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I am just sick that I have to go and face this again. I wonder if there are people on the earth who take another's life and feel remorse for the family, enough to not make them face a court to hear details again and again of their loved one's violent, tragic, and untimely death? To listen to lawyers who skew details in their client's favor and try to pass them off as facts? To listen to lawyers who skew details and try to pass them off as fact all in an effort to make a buck?
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I wonder if there are people on the earth who take the life of another and then apologize in a sincere manner to the family? I wonder about that.
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I wonder time and again how my husband's life could be taken and no one wants to admit that they did anything wrong; they want to pay no consequence (no matter how insignificant). I wonder how someone could just take a life and want to walk away and not face any of it.
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Yet WE, the family, friends and loved ones are left to face the loss every day. And some days are worse than others.
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2009-02-16T22:59:00.003-05:00

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I told my children that their father's body is in a cemetery in Strafford. They seemed to take it okay. I am sure the questions will come later when they allow it to sink in.
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2009-02-15T19:44:00.003-05:00

There is a hearing on Thursday at Strafford County Court in Dover at 1 o'clock pertaining to whether the license of the driver (who caused my husband's death) will be revoked (again). You may remember that his license was revoked by the State of NH for 3 years. The decision was appealed and no one from the State showed up at the hearing due to a clerical error. I was unaware that any appeal had even been made, as was the rest of Joe's family. The judge gave the guy his license back pendng the new hearing, which is February 19th. It is open to the public. Contact me if you have questions.

2009-02-12T09:22:00.001-05:00

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I am starting a new group, for young widows. Ugh. I still can't believe I am one of those.
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I also signed my children up for a group that starts in March. It's not that either of them seem to be having a hard time, it's more that I want them to connect with other kids who are in similar situations. They will actually be in different groups, because they separate the kids by age and developmentally obviously 4 year olds are a lot different 7 years olds. Alyssa is pretty open to the idea, but Luke immediately and matter-of-factly said "I'm not going" (like he has a choice). After I explained to him that they are going to be doing projects, things like cooking and making things he warmed up to the idea a little bit. I think it will be good for them.

2009-02-10T23:38:00.004-05:00

More from our conversation referenced in my last post.

I asked "How do you feel, Luke, when you see mommy cry?" He said, "I've only seen you cry three times. The rest of the times I was at school."

Background: Luke asks me sometimes when the last time I cried was, how often I cry, etc. He does not talk about Joe in the same sentence but we both know where these questions come from. I tell him that I cry a lot. Not every day, but probably every week. I tell him that it's ok to cry because everyone needs a way to let their feelings out, and it's important to let your feelings out and not keep them all inside. And then when you're done crying, you move on to something else. I've told him there are different ways of dealing with the feelings, to talk about them, to cry, etc and it's not important how you let them out, but that you let them out of your body and mind. We talk about this concept pretty often because Luke will always be the first to say "I never cried about daddy". He says it as though it's a good thing. I don't know where this comes from. I don't believe that Joe or I ever gave the impression that crying means weakness. I'm not going to tell my son he has to cry over what happened. I just tell him that it is ok no matter if he cries or does not cry and if he does cry I would just hug him.

Luke also says he does not think about his daddy a lot. It is so true that kids process loss so much differently than adults do. First, they don't necessarily understand what it means to die and the permanence of it. Second, their minds do not focus or dwell on hurtful things the way ours do. They may think of it for a minute, it may or may not feel good, and then they are on to something else. Third, kids really are "in the moment". It took me so long to understand and accept this concept. If kids are having fun doing something, they really are having fun. There 's no hidden secret to uncover. That's it. You just have to let it be what it is. They are not like adults, where we kind of go with the flow with sadness overshadowing everything.

So back to the question I asked Luke. "How do you feel when you see mommy cry?" I asked him again and didn't dispute his "3 times" comment, though this kid has definitely seen me cry more than three times. Luke went on (in his silly hyper-active voice) "I feel like, oh boy, I gotta get daddy. Where's daddy??" I realized what he was saying for the first time. "You feel like you don't know what to do when you see me cry?". He said "yes".

"Luke, I don't need you to do anything when I cry. If you want to do something, you could give me a hug, but I don't need anything. It's just how I let my feelings out. And I don't need daddy Luke. Mommy will be okay, even without daddy. You remember that I met daddy when I was 23 right? You remember that there was 'mommy' before I met daddy right? Mommy can take care of everything, including my two babies (ok they're not babies but I am allowed to still call them that if I want to :-). It's been a year and a half since daddy was here Luke, and we're all doing pretty good, wouldn't you say?

Luke said yes.

"Look at Alyssa's report card", I said pointing to the fridge, "she's doing great. And you're doing great with school and hockey and your friends and all the other things you do. And mommy is doing good too right? We are okay, and we've spent a long time without daddy now and we're all okay. Mommy can take care of you guys and the house and everything that needs to be done, even without daddy."

Luke agreed.

I honestly do not know what Luke thinks about in terms of his father dying, but I have always known that he worries about me. He makes comments here and there about my life; how I 'have to' do all the things around the house (to which I reply- "but Luke, that's okay, because I like to do that stuff") and believe it or not, he makes reference to me getting old "by myself". I think this comes from that he understands that Joe and I were married and we planned on getting old together. My sweet boy does not want his mommy to be alone as an old lady. It tears at my heart to think of him worrying about that. For now though, all I can do is show him that I am okay, that I am am not worried about that. And I'm not.

In a way I was glad to talk about this topic with Luke because I realized that some of his worries are possible to take away. With death, there is so little you have control over. There is no chance of hope to see Joe on this earth again. That's a hard thing I struggle with in terms of easing my children's pain. But their worries about me have possibilities to diminish with my actions.

2009-02-09T23:23:00.000-05:00

Tonight at dinner the kids and I went around the table and each of us said something good that happened today. We did that, and I love doing that because I always like hearing what they come up with. Then Luke said "now lets go around and say the worst thing that happened today", I said ok and the kids said their things and it got to me. Honestly, I had some pretty shitty things go on today but nothing I was about to tell them about. But as I was sitting there thinking, Luke said "the day that daddy died". He was referencing other conversations in which I have told my kids that that day was the worst day of my life. "That didn't happen today", I said to Luke, "but yes that was the worst thing that has ever happened in my life". Luke followed it up with "But we didn't have a funeral". He says these things in a silly voice that he uses when he wants to talk about something that he feels uncomfortable with.

"Yes we did Luke, you guys were not there". I said. Luke knows that there was a funeral and we have talked about it many, many times. Both of my kids remember the day that I told them their father died surprisingly well. They make comments about the time period...when they came home and their cousins were here and they didn't know they were going to be; the tent that was in the yard; all the people here that they did not know. It was a confusing time for them. It will be interesting if they are able to vocalize their feelings about that time period when they are older, and tell really what it was like for them.

I do not have regrets about anything really during that time. We were all doing our best to get by those first days and the kids were well taken care of and literally surrounded with love. That is all that could be done. There are differing opinions on whether kids should or should not be at funeral services at young ages. I believe that it depends on the children, and I also do not regret that my kids did not go. It was enough for them to be here at my house and have people come here after the funeral.

me: "You remember Luke, mommy spoke about daddy at the funeral to all the people that were there. I talked about how much daddy loved you guys".

Luke: "You talked ahout US?"

me: "Yes."

Luke: "What did you say?"

Me: "Do you want me to read to you what I said that day?"

Luke and Alyssa: "Yes!"

Both kids were acting a little silly an excited to hear what I said. I went to my computer and printed out a copy of what I said that day. I had not read what I was about to read for well over a year, but at that moment it felt right that the kids wanted to hear it. I brought it back to the kitchen and sat down. I started reading it and the kids listened, kind of fooled around, and they commented on certain parts. When I got almost to the end, there is a part about how much Joe loved to skate. I paused as I remembered the sentences I was about to read and I felt a rush of emotion come over me. Up to this point I had moments where my voice quivered, but I held it together, wanting my kids to focus on what I was saying, and not my emotion. When I got to the skating part the tears flowed out of my eyes and I put my head down.

Alyssa kind of quietly to Luke: She's crying Luke.

Alyssa to me in a sweet voice: "Mommy, daddy wishes he could come back but he can't."

Me: "I know Alyssa." I was hearing the words I've said to her a thousand times, trying to let her know that her daddy loves her and did not leave us by choice. Luke did his "normal" thing that he does when he sees me cry, which is basically to try to be silly and kind of make fun of me. I always stop him and tell him everything is okay, that mommy is fine, that I just cry sometimes because I love daddy so much and I am sad that he is not here with us.

This whole episode prompted a half hour long "discussion" with my kids about their daddy, the accident, various other issues surrounding the tragedy. I say "discussion" because the way these things work is that they say little phrases that to an outsider would probably make no sense but I try to interpret what they mean and what they are talking about, and go from there. I don't know if these conversations are productive or not, if the kids get anything out of them. I just seriously and simply do not know.

2009-02-04T22:46:00.004-05:00

Tonight I had Alyssa's first conference with her preschool teacher. Three years ago Joe and I sat with the same teacher for Luke's first school conference.

On my way there while I was driving, I was talking to myself out loud in my car, listing all of the things in this life that I am "lucky" to have....listing the reasons why my life is great....listing things that I am thankful for. I sounded like a crazy person. I was doing this because I was desperately trying to occupy my mind with something other than what I was about to do, which was sit in a chair across from Alyssa's teacher, alone. God, it hurts so much. I have a really hard time with the school things. I have yet to have a conference with Luke's teachers in which ANYONE does not shed a tear, teachers included.

I thought for sure that I would be okay tonight. I had some questions about Alyssa and whether or not the teacher hears her talking about her daddy in school. I know she does, I know that she has told some of the kids that "her daddy died" and they just look at her with blank stares. They don't know what to say to her, why would they? They don't even understand what she is saying I am sure. To most 4 year olds, daddies don't die. Maybe grandparents and pets and old people die. But not daddies. My heart breaks for Alyssa, thinking of her admission of this huge void in her life, being met with silence. But maybe she doesn't need anything. Maybe a kid just wants to say it.

I pretty much bailed on the conference after my first mention of Joe, because I felt my lip start to quiver and my hands shake. I just wanted to get out of there at that point because I was not up for an uncomfortable moment and I knew I wasn't going to cry through my questions to the teacher. I just wanted out and I'll talk to her another time. I'll tell her all the usual stuff....if they do anything for father's day, please consider Alyssa at that time...she has others in her life that she can make a project for, her Uncle Jeff or one of her Grandfathers.....please let me know if you hear of anything that she talks about in terms of her father or any situations that arise.....please let me know of any unusual behavior or anything out of character for her. All these questions I thought I would never ask, masked in words that make it seem bearable. I made it back to my car before I really started to cry, or maybe just out the door, I don't really remember.

The teacher had nothing but great things to say about my daughter. Wonderful in every way.

2009-01-28T20:48:00.004-05:00

.
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I miss Joe so much.

Every once in a while out of nowhere I get this feeling that falls over me and I have a memory of him...something crazily specific. Like I could be doing something, anything, completely not thinking about him at all and this "thing" will wash through my mind. I am always kind of surprised when it happens because the memories are so random and so vivid. I wouldn't even describe them as "memories" because there is such an intense feeling of reliving the moment associated with them. There is one that I've had a couple times that happened a few weeks before he died. We were in Montreal, sitting at an outdoor table having some drinks. I can remember the weather, how it felt to sit in that seat, to be across from him. There is nothing special that he said or I said, it's just the feeling of being there.

I miss him terribly. Aside from the grief and the anger and how I feel and how the kids feel and how they are doing and all the things that must be done in his absense, aside from everything that wraps it all up in a ball of complexity, I just miss him.

2009-01-21T22:32:00.007-05:00

I would like to thank the people who emailed me and to my cousin Cindy for commenting on my questions a couple posts ago. Because of the responses I actually understand now what people are saying to me, and I understand why I could not make sense of it.

To me, those words "courageous", "inspirational", etc siginified someone who's life was going right. Someone who was living in a fulfilling manner. Someone who "has it together". The disconnect came from the fact that I do not feel those things most moments of each day. I felt like, "do people think I am something that I am not? Do they think that I am okay, moving on, living happily? Am I misleading people by the way I am acting?"

But what I have learned from you is that YOU KNOW I am not completely okay, that I am doing my best, and that's okay. It's enough. And the common thread through what people said to me is that I did not "give up" and that's why you find my behavior courageous, though each person defined what giving up means a little differently.

The idea of giving up was never a real option for me. Trust me, there were/are many times when I've just had it, like I am DONE with everything but never have I ever seriously entertained the thought of staying in bed all day or just not caring about anything anymore. Some people have said to me/say to me that it is because of my kids that I am able to go on. I have never thought that to be true. Obviously yes, I love my kids more than anything but the idea that they in some way make this whole thing EASIER is just insane to me. That is a concept that I cannot relate to, and one I've never heard from any of the other young widows that I know. There are times, yes, that my kids make me laugh or moments of joy,etc, but for every one of those times there are 10 other times where my heart breaks for them; times when I am grieving myself and feel like I don't have the energy to be who I want to be for them; times when I struggle just to get the logistics together of what needs to be done as a single mother of 2. I would not say that my kids make it easier, though I would not have it any other way. I do not believe that giving up has anything to do with the presence of, or lack of, children.

I know that the reason that I did not "give up" is because of something that is very simple and basic. It is because I know and feel that I was a whole person before I ever met Joe. Trust me, I had to reach deep for who that was early on after Joe died, but I knew that "I" was in there under the layers of "mother", "wife", "partner", "dish-washer", "laundry-doer", "errand-runner", "chauffeur", etc. I know and feel that I was given a gift --of life-- by my parents and by God and I feel that "giving up" would be squandering something precious, something I am not willing to squander. Losing my friend Jennifer 11 years ago was my lesson at how precious and unpredictable life can be. Losing Joe was a devastating confirmation of that lesson. It makes me know that we are lucky to be living; lucky to have another day; lucky to have hope for a better future, whatever that may be. It is a privilege that others would give anything for. I don't want to waste that privilege, even if it seems like some days everything is awful and the world is a rotten place. I think of my husband and others that would give anything to see the faces one more time of the people they love. And then I step back and look at the love that I have from my family and friends that care about me. Then I make the choice to focus on and be grateful for the gifts that I have been given and what I still have. If I didn't do that, I would be consumed by the sadness of what has been taken away. It does not come naturally. It's a conscious choice. Sometimes it feels like work. But for me, it is the only way.

2009-01-12T20:46:00.009-05:00

This woodstove is in my kitchen.

I spent hours sitting in that chair last winter. After I put my kids to bed the house was so quiet. I sat there and cried some nights hours and hours and hours, wondering what was happening to my life. Trying to deal with confusion that seemed overwhelming and too much to bear at times. Thinking about my husband, missing him in a way that encompassed so many emotions. When I wasn't crying I was off in another world. If you saw me you would see someone who seemed mentally absent. In shock. Even months later I still think my head was stinging from the shock of it all. My God, how could he be my husband one day and then just disappear? Gone? Without a word. Without me with him. How could I have seen my husband with no life in his body. How? How can he not be walking through the door again? How can all of the plans we made be meaningless? How do I deal with the fact that I will never see his face again? That I will never hear his voice? That he is no longer with me?

I remember one night feeling really true deep pain and mental anguish. It was a friday night, I remember because for a long time Friday nights were hard for me because that was our "special" night. The silence in my house was piercing that night. I laid down on the floor in the kitchen and prayed for someone to walk through the door and take my pain away. That thought is so out of the realm of normal for me. I knew that it was not rational, not possible, not happening. That was a terrible, dark, lonely night. There were a bunch of those.

I am writing this post because I have no idea what it means to "move on", "move forward", "get better", "deal with it", "get over", "make peace with" etc. There is no gauge to tell me if I am getting better or dealing with things and the pain is still deep and sharp and intensely sad. But I know that I don't sit for hours in that chair anymore. And although I do sit there, my thoughts are more of "what am I going to do now?" (in itself an overwhelming question), and less of the reflection of the hurtful past and the events that unfolded. There really is no sense in what happened. It took me a long time just to figure that out. No answers to the questions, no gain for going through the details. It just happened.

2009-01-10T22:06:00.003-05:00

I hope this isn't taken the wrong way and I don't intend to come across as unappreciative because I feel very appreciative for any and ALL positive energy sent my way.

My sister Stephanie wrote a really nice post about me on her blog. I am commenting on it here because I have been meaning to bring this topic up on LEFT.

It is basically this.....I do see the comments on this blog and I receive emails from people, some friends and some strangers....that use words like "brave", "courageous", "inspirational" etc when describing me. Although I truly appeciate these compliments because more than anything else they make me feel **loved** and **cared about** in some way that I can not describe but seems like a valid positive force in my life, I do not feel "inspirational" ever and my moments of bravery and courageousness seem few and far between and almost always private. I just don't connect myself with any of those words and I don't understand why people say them to me. I wish I could understand that better so if anyone could tell me why I represent those qualities to them it may help. Next time you email me or comment, add a "because" at the end of your compliment. I feel rude for even asking that.

The other thing that I don't understand is that idea that I am helping others in their grief about Joe. That's another disconnect for me. Can someone explain this? You don't have to post a comment if you don't want to, you could email me (there is a link to an email address for me if you go to the Chalifour blog, then click on my complete profile.)

It feels weird to me even asking these questions because I feel like with such nice things being said to me I should already know these answers. Maybe it will all come to me some day. Maybe 10 years from now it will seem clear, I don't know.