It's hard to believe we are nearing the end of another holiday season. As a child, you ache for Christmas and all that it entails. As you get older, it's less magical and more practical... you tend to ask for things you need. There is a plateau period as an adult (before having children) when the holidays merely exist. They don't hold the same magical value when you are a childless, unmarried adult and ask your parents for a new vacuum or a coffee pot, both major necessities. Although the value is depleted, often a glimpse of magic is seen through a niece or a nephew, slightly rekindling the spirit that accompanies the holiday season.
Having a child changes everything. Seeing the magic through a little one's eyes is truly priceless. Creating memories and traditions to orchestrate this special time is one parental job I would not trade for anything. I wish I could bottle the excitement or simply push a button to have it last forever. The holidays become a different kind of "special" when a child's excitement is involved.
We had a wonderful Christmas this year. As Tyler gets older, his enthusiasm for Christmas is contagious. He learned all the classic carols and relished in looking at Christmas lights. He wrote letters to Santa, decorated his own tree, and bought toys (albeit slightly unwillingly) for those underprivileged.
We also spent the holidays with someone else. Someone unique and special who has given me a new outlook on life and love. I am truly happy. We are truly happy together. All three of us.
The Blogging World... It's a vast community that until I became an actual blogger, I had no idea existed. There are awards, groups, gurus, and different levels of blog "celebrity." I have had amazing experiences that have stemmed from writing the blog. I have made new friends, connected with old ones, won a few awards, received a job offer, and saved thousands of dollars on therapy. When I started this blog I had no idea it would turn into something that I would come to depend on so greatly. I was also clueless to the fact that people would actually want to read what I considered to be my therapeutic outlet.
Lately I feel like a fair-weathered Jets fan... (Explanation: I am only a Jets fan because of Mark Sanchez.) I really only blog when something is wrong or I am mentally struggling with a situation. When things are going well, I find I don't have much to write. As in the case right now... things are going well, really well, and that means I sit at the computer and struggle to come up with a post. Amazing that I can write two paragraphs on not having anything to write... go figure.
I haven't written in over a month and don't really have any legitimate excuse.
School started. Which in our world begins a new year (not New Year's Day). I am sharing a contract this year, which means I only work Monday through Wednesday. It is the BEST schedule, and I can honestly say that I love every minute of it. It's truly the best of both worlds. The paycheck is the only part where an adjustment is necessary...
"What do you DO on your days off?" is a common question.
I definitely manage to keep myself busy running Tyler to and from school, while volunteering in his class, along with the mundane errands, the time seems to slip by rather quickly. I am hoping to go back to school to get my doctorate, but probably not until next year. I am also dabbling in the idea of getting my secondary credential which would enable me to teach junior high or high school. Sometimes it's not about what I do (or don't do) with the days off, but it's about the guilt that I do NOT feel when I need to do something for myself. That in itself is worth its weight in gold.
Tyler is playing soccer and loving it! I am still pulling for baseball... or golf... since I'm in search of a high payout which would support my early retirement dreams. ;) Soccer just won't cut it. David Beckham, he is not.
September 11th is definitely a day that will stick in our minds forever. Saying, "We will never forget," seems a little cliche, yet still very accurate.
I look at this day through different glasses now. The widowhood initiation for them was sudden and tragic nine years ago. I often wonder if they ever want to STOP sharing the death anniversary of their loved one with the entire country. I know for me, that day was not one to celebrate, commemorate, or exalt. It was a day that I wanted to spend by myself... within my own thoughts. I didn't need or want other people sharing this day with me. I want to celebrate his life, not his death. I can't help but wonder if the 9/11 widows ever feel this way.
Make no mistake, I don't feel we should ever forget the death of our loved ones, just be free to handle the death anniversary in a not so public manner.
Maybe after I have nine years under my "widow belt" I will feel differently, but this year, in this moment, I feel for the widows that never get to acknowledge their spouse's death without the whole country watching.
At Camp Widow I had the chance to meet some online friends who are now real-life friends. They have proven that life exists after widowhood. Blending their families totaling five kids, they have found a happiness that is apparent to the naked eye. Mike and Irene have what I want... an understanding love. Understanding in so many ways.
First, I have to mention my strong adoration for Irene. She helped me before, during, and after Bill's death. She answered questions for me that I couldn't ask anyone else on this planet. She just recently published her story and her book will be coming soon to a bookstore near you. I will have a dedicated post about Irene and her amazing book (that I was fortunate enough to read) very soon...
This post is about Mike.
He clearly loves Irene with his whole being. He is confident and doesn't cringe at Irene's blog titled My Sainted Dead Husband, like some men would. In fact, he is well aware that Bob (the saint) is a part of their family. He respects that the life Irene and Bob shared still exists. As the live husband, Mike is not jealous of the sainted dead one. I would like to think that Mike is not anomaly and one (or two, or three...) more Mike(s) are out there willing to pursue life with a widow.
I can only imagine that there always feels like another person in their marriage... albeit a very quiet person, but a trio nonetheless. A widow's situation is not chosen. We don't have an ex worthy of complaint. In fact, quite the contrary, we have a spouse that we still love and want. Seeing that it's possible to have that level of love gave us all hope that it still exists. It's not easy, for that I am certain, but seeing Mike and Irene together was a gift.
I want to find my very own Mike.
If you are sensitive or take offense easily, please skip this post. It is not for the faint of heart... These are funny, sad, happy quotes (by numerous people, not necessarily by me) from Camp Widow. Some are brutally honest and some are painfully sad. There may be some that don't make sense if you haven't lost a spouse. Some might make you cringe... IF you haven't lost a spouse. There are many, MANY more, but this gives an idea of why we (the attendees) loved our weekend.
*Fellow widows - feel free to add any I missed.*
Why wouldn't he date a widow??? It's not like I killed the guy."
You are my first choice for this life.
You can't say, 'Would you rather be with...' when it will never be an option.
Death ends a life... not a relationship.
I have graduated from MILF to WILF.It takes courage to leave the idea you once had for your life... behind.
'Ma'am, just have your husband carry it when you get home.'
'Well, that might be awhile... I don't think he's coming back.'
A 13 inch tumor??? Your tumor trumps my tumor.
I'm a DD... Since he Dropped Dead.
Widow party crashers.
I'm sorry you dropped your cell phone, and you think it's the worst thing in the world. It could be worse... your husband could have cancer... and die.
Taking out the trash was NOT supposed to be my job!
Drunk Widows Playing Bingo
Death sucks.
Widows rock.
Widowhood sucks.
I can honestly say that I miss my Camp Widow friends each and every day. Being one of many instead of the only one is a feeling that words can not describe. The weekend played a monumental role in my grief process. Although we all began the weekend in very different places; I think we all left a bit further along in our individual steps of grieving.
I truly believe I have reached a new level. Not a "high," but definitely not rock bottom, either.
Am I moving on? I'm not sure that is actually possible... but I am moving forward. I'd like to think that my emotions are leveling out, and my "sadness" is no longer echoing in the deepest hole on Earth.
I feel a bit like Goldilocks. It's not too hot, and not too cold... but just right. I feel just right with accepting that grief is a process, and I can't accelerate the outcome. There really is no finish line in this race. I will never be "over it" and I now realize (to quote Bill) that, "it is what it is," and oddly enough... I'm OK with that.
Today we are headed back to The City of Hope to visit. Sounds odd, I am sure, but it happens to be the mid-way point for a fellow widow and me. Her husband was treated there, as well. She has two young boys who have also spent quite a bit of time at the facility. I think it will help our boys see that other kids have also lost a parent... they aren't the only ones. I figured that if it helped me to see I wasn't alone, then Tyler could benefit, too. Since we don't know many divorced couples, he thinks he is the only child on the planet who doesn't have a dad.
When I told Tyler we were going back to visit, he was confused. I reassured him that we weren't visiting doctors, but meeting other kids who also lost their dad. I could see his wheels turning, and his next question was, "Could we PLEASE go to the cafeteria? I miss it SO much." Go figure...
Camp Widow was this weekend in San Diego. It was coincidentally also my wedding anniversary. I figured it would either be really good to spend it with other widows, or it would be REALLY bad... Luckily, I took the chance, because it turned out to be the best situation possible (in a really crappy one).
I had the most amazing time at the conference and never once thought, "Gosh it's really hard to be here." For once, I didn't feel like "THE Widow" in the room. I actually felt a little normal. No one whispered, "That's the one who lost her husband," when I walked into the room. No one did the tilted head nod when I spoke to them. It was the proverbial happy place for a group of sad people. Only we weren't sad... Not. One. Bit.
It was a powerful weekend, and I left a better widow. I finally met some online friends and gained a few new ones along the way. It was like an exclusive club meeting where the dues are outrageously high and the initiation is life-changing. Even though not one of the 150+ attendees chose to join, we have a common sisterhood that is instantaneous and will bond us forever. The best part of the weekend (besides things already mentioned) was the ability to joke about death and the dying process. I know it sounds morbid, but there are a few things that only a fellow widow(er) can understand about this whole situation.
I am mentally writing so many different blog posts derived from the weekend. I guess my bout of writer's block is gone. ;)
Stay tuned...
It has finally happened...
I knew the questions were coming, and the first few broke my heart, but as with anything, you get used to it. Tyler consistently asks questions like, "Where did I do that when Dad was here?" and "What did I say when Dad was here?"
I never expected his memory to recall the little things, but deep down inside I was hoping that he would have a vague recollection of Bill before he was sick. I am afraid that isn't going to happen. Recently he saw a picture of Bill in his healthy state and didn't recognize him. I hate the fact that he won't remember the dad that Bill truly was.
No one ever said that life was fair.
Last year, Father's Day was a mere six days after Bill died. I so badly wanted to set up a ritual for Tyler to do each year on this holiday that was once shared with his dad. I struggled to find the perfect idea that would be permanently placed in his memory. I wanted it to be something visual that Tyler could possibly understand better than, "Dad lives in heaven now." Thankfully, I don't think he will ever remember my not-so-brilliant plan.
I decided to get a balloon that we would let go and send up to dad in heaven. It seemed like the perfect plan that we would recreate each year. We could gaze in wonder as the balloon drifted up into the blue sky. Memories would flood our minds as we reminisced about "Our Dad." Let's just say that it didn't really go as I had planned.
Me: We are getting this balloon to send to daddy... since he lives in heaven now.
Tyler: We are getting balloons???
Me: Well, just one. We are going to let it go in the backyard and dad will be able to get it. You can even watch it drift up to the sky.
Tyler: (silence)
At home...
Me: Let's tell dad that we love him before we send it.
Tyler: Can I water the flowers?
Me: No, we are telling dad how much we love and miss him.
Tyler: I don't want to... Can I hold the balloon?
Me: Sure. Do you want to say, "I love you," before you let it go?
Tyler: I am NOT letting the balloon go. NO WAY.
Me: You have to, it's for dad... it's not for you.
Tyler: It's MINE! Why can't I have it? I can't let it go. Dad doesn't want it.
Me: YES HE DOES! NOW LET IT GO!!
Tyler: (Crying) NO!!!!!!! (Crying)
Me: YES!!! GIVE IT TO ME! (Said as I took the balloon and forced him to let it go.)
Tyler continued to sob and jump after the balloon as it lifted to the sky. He cried, stomped, kicked, hit... you name it... he was slightly upset, to put it mildly. I realized at that moment that I wasn't going to be able to "create" the perfect moment. It would have to just transpire on its own.
I am one to stick to my guns regarding parenting and consistency. I believe in following-through and saying what you mean. This being said... I also believe that (in life) the big picture is vital and battles should be chosen wisely. Six days after Bill's death, the balloon war was NOT the battle I was willing to fight. So, we hopped back in the car, went to the store, and got Tyler a new balloon. Hopefully Bill got the first one, because I don't think we will be sending many more up.
It's Father's Day, and although we had a wonderful day... it's just not one of my favorite holidays. It starts at the beginning of June when all you see in the stores is Father's Day reminders, dad gifts, and an abundance of tee-shirts that refer to some sort of, "My dad is the best," mantra. There was time when I mulled over the adorable boys' clothing pieces proclaiming the utmost pride for a father. Those days are gone for us, and I can't even fathom going near those shirts in the store. I hate to admit it, but I am relieved Father's Day is (almost) over.
Luckily, this day does not bother Tyler one bit. He still says Mother's Day is his favorite holiday... but I think he might be a little biased. ;) He just assumes that Father's Day is when we celebrate Papa (Bill's dad)... and he is absolutely correct. Today is Papa's day, and he has earned it. From the bottom of my heart ~ THANK YOU, Joe, for all you do and all you are for my little boy. Tyler is so very lucky... and so am I.
Today marks one year. I can't believe it has been a full year... and I can't believe it's only been a year. The past few weeks have been rough. The anticipation and reliving the memories have not been easy on the emotions.
I'm unclear how I should feel today. Obviously the wound is reopened, but I am not sure if I should be back at square one with grief, or if I should be slightly happy to have survived the first year. Today I feel a little bit of both. I am proud of how we are doing, and I can't help but smile when I look at my four-year-old who is growing up faster than I would like. Bill would be proud of us, too.
While I don't feel today should be any type of "celebration," (and part of me wanted to curl up in the fetal position) I do feel that I need to honor him and do something in his memory. So, today I went to the dermatologist and had an all-over skin check. Every year I will have an emotional reminder to head to the doctor and get checked.
Melanoma does NOT discriminate... the color of your skin does NOT matter... protect yourself and your loved ones. Even if you think you "tan easily"... you are at risk. EVERYone is. It IS genetic! If anyone in your family has a history, you have a far greater chance of getting melanoma. PLEASE protect yourself!
One year. On Tuesday. I'm dreading it. My heart hurts.
There... I said it.
Although we had a really nice weekend, I can't help but think, "Last year at this time, we were...." And I find myself reliving the last few weeks of Bill's life. I wish I could say that I enjoy the memories, but I do not. A year ago (this weekend) I was arranging for Hospice to come in and help us with the end-of-life procedures. When I mentally recap the events I honestly can't fathom how in the world I survived. Thankfully, adrenaline kicks in and you just do what is necessary while standing in the eye of the storm. If only I could figure out how to get my adrenaline to ignite as the one year anniversary approaches... I could use a little numbness for that too.
Tomorrow is a week post-surgery, and I get my stitches out! Even though it was arthroscopic, I am pretty bruised where he went in. I have been managing really well and have had relatively little pain. I am sore, and can tell when I have done too much, but all in all, it's not really that bad. I definitely feel like I have one speed... and that speed is S L O W. That has been the hardest adjustment. Timing things has been a challenge since everything takes twice as long.
I can take the sling off at home, which is a nice relief. I always wear it out... for two reasons... 1) I have a serious fear of someone bumping into me, and 2) I think it's the universal sign that says, "Don't even think about accidentally bumping into me."
Tyler is quite anxious for me to be better. I wondered how he would take all of this, since his foundational knowledge for doctors, hospitals, surgeries, and "sick" is abundant... to say the least. My hypothesis was correct in assuming he does NOT like me being injured or in pain. He also wants to be carried/held once and awhile, which doesn't help the issue. He has handled the whole thing VERY well... all things considered.
I am SO glad I did the surgery! (I was having some serious anxiety.) I can tell that my shoulder will once again be good as new. Even though it is tight and needs some strengthening, I feel reassured that it WILL stay in place.
Happy Memorial Day to everyone! Most think of this day and immediately think about a three-day-weekend (or four, for some)... myself included. I am a firm believer that regardless of political party we should ALL support the brave men and women who have literally given their lives to fight for our country.
That being said, today I have been thinking about the widows that are a result of these men giving their lives for our freedom. In the past (pre-cancer) I would hear of a young mother losing her military husband, and it was always a sad story. I would even mentally converse that marrying someone in that line of work would make you pray every second for his safe return. Hearing of your soldier's death would be something that was always in the back of your head, but something you would want to avoid with every being of your body. It would be a constant thought until they were back in your arms, safe and sound.
While I think I my thoughts are not too far off, my beliefs have slightly changed. I greatly feel for these poor women who lose their spouses in this way. Even knowing that death is more prevalent in this line of work, one cannot prepare... ever. They are no more prepared for the news that they are widows, than anyone else. It is a shock to the system that can not be anticipated. Please raise a glass to those who have given their lives in order to give us everything... and be sure to include those who have lost the love of their lives to our country, as well. They are equally as brave.
In case you aren't on Facebook (where all my updates have been), I am doing really well after the shoulder surgery. Typing is not the easiest, but I can definitely get by. It's actually not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. Of course, the offers of help/food/babysitting have been in abundance which has put my mind at ease. We are doing well, although Tyler is ready for it to be totally healed since he claims he wants to be carried once and awhile. I'll let Papa carry him all day today when we head to Joe and Ann's for a BBQ... the King's wishes are always granted at Grandma and Papa's. ;)
If I could chicken out, I think I would. It's not the actual surgery that haunts me, but the recovery that is occupying my every thought. The next three days are insanely busy (which is good), but trying to prepare for three weeks of sub plans in two days (I am at a meeting one of the three days left), will be a challenge. That doesn't include the end-of-the-year tasks I also need to finish. One thing for which I am certain... it will all fall into place... it always does.
Last year at this time I was in desperate need of the love and support of our families. As the year mark gets closer, I can't help but reluctantly reminisce about the events that were taking place in our lives.
While I do not make it a habit to reread any portion of the blog (it's the literary equivalent to nails on a chalkboard), but this week last year, we were debating if another hospital stay was imminent... turned out, it was. My favorite memory was sitting with Bill in his hospital room, just the two of us, hanging out... like nothing was wrong. We joked, we laughed, we talked... at that moment, I honestly had no idea how close the end really was. I am so very thankful we had that day together.
Tyler had his preschool Open House tonight. As I traveled the room's perimeter reading the walls, I had to consciously swallow the lump in my throat. Not for the reason that you are probably thinking (that Bill should have been there to see it), but because his teachers are two amazing ladies who, without a doubt, love him completely. They are very serious about academics and maintain high expectations for every child... which to me, is secondary in my child's education. Seeing their interaction with Tyler tonight made me think that if he doesn't learn another thing the rest of the year... it won't matter. The love and support they have given will last him longer than any math activity or shape sort or insect life cycle ever could.
Do I want him to learn and grow and read? Of course. I want all of those things and many more, but mostly I want him to love school and feel that same love reciprocated. For that, I will be forever indebted to these two ladies.
Since I can not volunteer in the classroom, I try to help out in little ways that might make their lives easier. Whether it's an extra donation, or supplies for the class, it's definitely minuscule compared to what they have given us. I obviously empathize with the dedication (and dollars) it takes to supplement the curriculum for an entire school year. Tonight, Tyler and I bought books at the book fair for his class, and I had to laugh a little at myself thinking about its inequities... In my head I thought, "You have played an enormous role in shaping my child's life, and have created a love for learning so deep that I will be forever grateful....... So, here are a couple of books."
Heed the warning... If you are in a situation where you might be having surgery in less than two weeks, I strongly recommend that you stay OFF the Internet when wondering about recovery times.
I am having the dreaded shoulder surgery a week from Thursday. I am happy to get it out of the way, and I am thrilled to get my shoulder fixed, but it is not going to be easy. I just don't want to live like this and am ready for it to be healed... now, please.
I have a Bankart tear, which is a tear of the inferior glenohumeral ligament. (I don't know what that means, either.)
I searched for my ailment/surgical procedure in regards to common recovery times and got a variety of examples ranging from 1 week to 8 months. I am assuming that neither are true. The majority mention 4-6 weeks. Not too bad, I suppose, but this probably means in a sling for a MONTH and having very little (if any) range of motion for 2-3 weeks. Nevermind that I live with a four-year-old who cannot get in and out of the bath by himself due to the "extra deep" tub. Good times.
The bright side... this surgery works for 90% of patients. I won't have to worry about it dislocating while simply sitting on the couch (which is how it happened last time). Now my goal is to come up with a really great heroic story that is the culprit of my injury. Can you have an injury that did not come about from a memorable experience? Is it still called an injury? Because, I have no reason this happens to my shoulder... NONE. I don't have a, "when I was saving the kitten from the fire..." or, "once when I was skiing in the Alps..." or, "then the bike flipped over my head..." story. It just pops out of the joint when doing regular, everyday things. Have I mentioned that it's the WORST pain I have ever had in my life? I have? Just want to be sure.
This particular description of the surgery is my favorite and made me feel like a super star!
Bankart surgery aims at restoring the muscular stability of shoulders by repairing the torn capsular detachments and also by fixing ligaments in place. This type of surgery is often undergone by young athletes and other sportsmen that suffer from a shoulder injury and face the problems of recurrent dislocation.The truth...
In reality they are going to put screws in the bone to keep the "ball" part of my arm in the socket. Attached to the screws are sutures that they will weave through the ligament and pull tight (think drawstring) to keep everything in place. I am really trying not to think about it.
Based on the title of this post one might think I have some random connection or life lesson that I will attempt to relate to the Magic Eraser cleaning tool. Sorry to disappoint, but it's literally about the sponge-type cleaning wonder.
I found a box of Magic Erasers (with only one missing) in the laundry room today. They are probably 3 years old. I was going to throw them away because the memory of using one came flooding back to me. I tried to clean a mark off the wall, but it was completely useless! I was EXTREMELY disappointed, and to say I was confused by the hype is an understatement. Bill had used them at work religiously and raved about their miracle tendencies. I have friends who also swore by their effectiveness, and I would just nod to avoid being in the minority.
Three years ago, my conversation with Bill went like this:
Me: I don't like those Magic Eraser things... I tried one and it didn't work!
Bill: Really? We use them all the time at work, and they get EVERYTHING clean.
Me: Well, the wall still has a mark on it. THEY DON'T WORK!
Bill: That's really odd... are you sure you did it right?
Me: How hard can it be to clean the mark off the wall with a little sponge? (Insert sarcastic/snippy tone here.)
Since I still have the same small mark on the wall, I thought I give the eraser one more shot...
It turns out that you have to WET THE ERASER in order to reap the benefits! Who knew? (Clearly not me.) I was using it bone dry. I am going to have to play the blonde card on this one...
I'll be keeping the box I discovered, and will probably purchasing more to take some to work. They really are amazing!
I think I can actually hear him laughing at me.
Well, I did it. I finally registered for Camp Widow. Thankfully, it's not exactly camping, being that it's at the Marriott on the beach. I started to register a few months ago, and didn't finish because my purse was in the car... I know, lazy excuse. It is in San Diego this year, so there really is not an excuse for me NOT to go. The main reason I'm going is to meet the other widows that I regularly "talk" to online. There are also a few blogs that I read religiously and can't wait to actually meet some of the writers in person. The camp offers support, small-group sessions, and the chance to be around other people who have walked in similar shoes.
Everyone wants to feel like they "belong" in some capacity or another. Widowhood is similar. Only it's the crappiest club with a horrific initiation. I talked to someone recently who just lost her spouse and actually said to her, "Welcome to the club... I'm so sorry... It is awful that you have to be a carrying card member."
I wish I could leave this club and disaffiliate, but the rulebook states it's a lifetime membership. Truthfully, I wish the organization putting on the conference would not have any widowed participants and need to cancel it. Then maybe people wouldn't be joining and maybe the widowhood club would just fade away... No such luck.
I am really excited to spend a weekend down in San Diego sans child. The weekend happens to be the 6th-8th of August... so I will spend what would have been my sixth wedding anniversary (August 7th) at Camp Widow. How's that for irony?
Lately I find I am drawn to post more than the norm. I am sure there are many reasons, but mainly, it still serves as my therapy and if I can get my thoughts down, then I feel a weight lifted.
I sometimes get angry at Bill. Well, not really at him, but at the fact that he died. It's an empty feeling of anger that is not fueled by something he did intentionally to me. I find I get angry when I have to do things that I am not supposed to have to do at this stage of my life. I am supposed to married with a few kids. I am supposed to be worrying about paying for college and how to make ends meet when the air conditioning breaks. Although I am not really worried about these things, (knock on wood... please let my A/C make it through summer) I am worried about things I never could anticipate taking over my thoughts at thirty-four years old. In a way, I blame Bill for "forcing" me to have to think about all these things. Now, I know it's not his fault, and he certainly didn't choose this route either, but there are times I need someone to blame, and for once in our marriage he really can't tell me I'm wrong... or irrational... or being crazy... AND he can't tell me to stop talking and just sit there and look pretty... but I'd give anything if he could.
This is a fair warning that you are about to read a rant and/or rave. Enter at your own risk.
I often wonder about the emotional maturity of some people... mainly me. I *think* I have always been somewhat on the mature side for the appropriate age at which I have assessed myself. I also believe that life's lessons, big or small, can enhance maturity in some people.
The question I have tonight, though, is if it is possible to halt emotional maturity at the time of a crisis? Could it be that one stops maturing after such a traumatic emotional experience? "Survival mode" does not include learning necessary social cues, thus reverting back to younger tendencies. If such an experience takes up an innumerable amount of emotional efforts, could it be that one can not get over that hill in order to grow and keep maturing at age-appropriate pace?
Facebook puts a new social media in our laps. Understanding the rules and common courtesies is not always easy, but get to know how it works and it's not brain surgery. I have friends on Facebook who are still in high school, and I see their updates (and sometimes cringe), but it gives me a little insight to what kids that age are thinking, believing, and concluding about life. They are eager (desperate, even) to get out of high school. Often, their maturity level is far above what one could imagine. Sometimes I feel like I should take notes from them in how one should view the world. Their maturity often surpasses those who have been out of high school for years and years. Go figure...
Not to worry... I am not referring to anyone in my family or circle of friends; or anyone with whom I work, socialize, or regularly encounter. I am however referring to an experience in which an adult demonstrated actions severely lacking maturity or tact or social appropriateness of any kind. In fact, it was a fluke experience that has been chalked up to just that... an experience. I don't run into people I deem to be that immature very often, so when I do, it's shocking beyond what my mind can fathom. Intelligence does not equate to maturity. It sometimes takes a little while to realize this, and it can be quite eye opening.
Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there.
It will be my first as a single one. I won't go into detail, but on this holiday last year I was watching my husband slowly slip away. It was a horrible day with a lot of tears for so many different reasons. I'll just add that it was a rough day for Bill, too.
I am determined to make this Mother's Day weekend (yes, I have graduated to celebrating it the entire weekend) one of the best. So far, so good... we have a fun-filled weekend planned, and it's not quite half way over yet. So, don't forget to celebrate all of the moms in your life!
I greatly appreciate all the blog votes, and although I had the most votes... I still came in second. They "stopped" the voting at midnight EST, although that was a little shady since they listed the date as April 31st. They allowed more votes after voting was over, which was also confusing. Since I clearly don't need the prize offered, I will choose one and either donate it, or sell it on e-bay and donate the proceeds. I have to make it worth my while to have invested such great efforts into this contest.
Although the blog is still listed on their website and in the contest for the month of May, I am not participating. It was fun, but a little too involved the last few days. I have exceeded the number of times I can ask my Facebook friends to vote. ;)
A quick update on the two of us:
Tyler is "playing" soccer... yes I realize playing is in quotes. He kind of knows where the ball is, and then nonchalantly jogs to the area where the other kids gather around it. At the end of the game however, he bolts like lightning to run through the parent tunnel and get his snack bag. Go figure...
I am getting through the school year and eagerly awaiting summer vacation! It's tough to work full-time knowing that next year I will not. Wednesdays will be my new Fridays... just like pink is the new black. :)
We were going to move... and now we are not. It's a long, complicated story, but it has all worked out for the best. We are both happy to stay in our house. I am also thrilled to not have to physically move with my bad shoulder. I am having surgery May 27th and have been advised by a mentor to invest in HUGE shirts, elastic waist pants, and slip on shoes. I cringe at the ugliness in that combo. Top it off with not being able to blow-dry my hair and having to put make-up on with my left hand, and I think I might qualify for clown school. Good times.
Based on my last post about the "little things" in life, I am going to take another chance to shamelessly plug the blog and ask that you click here and vote again. This is my "little thing" in life that I really want to win. You can only vote every 24 hours (not to be confused with once a day).
The gentleman who writes the blog who just stole MY second place spot wrote about me in his blog and how I might be deserving, but that he is more so. He draws doodles and posts them online... and I write about life as my husband spent months and months suffering from cancer which inevitably took his life. Did I mention that I am a thirty-four-year-old widow with a four-year-old son who I am now raising by myself? OK, I rarely play the "widow card" but I need the votes... desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.
If you could vote again, I would greatly appreciate it.
VOTE HERE
It's so easy to let the big things in life overshadow the little things. After all, that is why they are considered to be the BIG things. In life we all have issues that come in a variety of shapes and sizes.
Things beginning, things ending, things bought, things sold, things changing, things stagnant, things sufficient, things lacking, things that matter, things that don't.
I have had almost two years of BIG things that have completely smothered the little things that I so greatly cherish. I started thinking about my favorite little things in life, and the immense value they all hold.
Whether it's an impromptu "I love you" from my favorite four-year-old, or flowers from a parent "just because."
It might be a perfectly timed text from a friend with only one word - "dinner?" or it could even be the excitement of wearing a new outfit.
Often it is a fresh new "cut and color," or maybe it's leaving for work in the morning without a crying child waving good-bye at the window.
It doesn't really matter what the little things are, but what does matter is how often you step back and notice them. Take the time to cherish the little things, because if they disappear, they can all too easily become the BIG things.
I received an e-mail about a month ago informing me that the blog was nominated for a "Blogger" award. I was interviewed and now need votes. I wouldn't normally do this, but the competitive side of me wants to (at least) follow through with the process. If you are so inclined, you can click on the link below and then click the blue "Vote Now" button in the top left corner of the interview. VOTE HERE
I'm having an "It's Not Fair" day. I know life isn't fair, and no one has ever told me differently. I have said to many a student, that if someone told you life was fair, they were telling you a pack of lies. Today was just one of those days... and it's not fair. It's not fair to me, my child, or the people who surround us. It's just not fair on so many levels, for so many people. The feelings, the grief, the anger, the acceptance, the guilt... none of them are fair and things were never supposed to be like this. Ever. Yet they are.
But this is real life, and I need to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward... which is very different from moving on. Thankfully, tomorrow is a new day.
This post did not really turn out to be the "Happy Easter" post to which it was intended. Nonetheless, I hope you all have a wonderful Easter and are able to spend it with loved ones.
Faith was the topic at the Easter church service yesterday. Although it was based on the "leap of faith" idea, it got me thinking about faith in general... leaping, blind, or otherwise.
Right or wrong, I have always been a "blind faith" person. I don't need proof or to see things with my own eyes. If you would have asked a few years ago about my faith, I probably could have given you a very intelligent, well-thought out answer that summed up my beliefs in a few sentences. My faith had never been tested, so it was quite simple to decide what to believe.
Life happened. And a few months ago, if you asked me the same question regarding faith, my answer would have probably been a jumbled attempt at an explanation, because after faith is tested it's not always so easy to put your finger on your exact beliefs. However, if you asked me that same question today, I think my answer would just simply be one word. YES.
Faith requires trust and trust requires risk. The death of a loved one can make you feel robbed of that trust, which off-sets the common beliefs that lead you to faith. Having a not-so-common circumstance makes everything seem abstract, and therefore too risky. The blurriness tests your faith, but if you believe blindly, then it shouldn't matter.
For me, nothing is better than taking my contacts out, removing my make-up (or not caring about it), and rubbing my eyes. It is a rarity for me since I sleep with my contacts in and generally have make-up on during the day.
Tonight was one of those "rub your eyes until it hurts" nights.
I absolutely could not wait to rush home and let the eye-rubbing commence. It is such an amazing feeling to be able to finally rub them without worrying about make-up smearing or having a contact come out or even tear.
As with many pleasures, there is an ever so slight sting that comes with the great joy of rubbing an eye. It is hardly noticeable, yet in some ways makes me extremely grateful that I have allowed myself to not worry about the few things that naturally come when wearing contacts. It's a sting that keeps me aware and thankful that I have such delicate assistance that help me to see clearly each and every day.
You can read between the lines or take it at face value... both are accurate applications.
The latest and greatest...
Tyler is playing basketball and finally loves it. It took a few weeks for him to warm up to the idea, but he now has the hang of it and is ready to pose for the camera every time he scores. Watching a group of kids, ages four and five, run up and down the court is just about the cutest thing I have ever seen. This last week I turned into "that mom." Truthfully, my friend and I turned into, "those moms" since I was not alone. We were ready to take down a few five year olds who were bullying our kids on the court. So yes, I am THAT mom, and yes, I am saving money for my child's therapy.
Tyler really does love playing and the #6 shirt doesn't hurt either. Now he is claiming that he wants to be a basketball player AND a drummer when he grows up.... AND wants to do both at the same time. I had to break the news to him that drumming and playing basketball simultaneously has clown-like tendencies, and I'll be able to use his college fund to off-set the therapy costs. ;)
I am loving my new school and am very happy I made the change. I miss my old clan at Golden, but the new start has been refreshing. I found out last week that I will be able to go part-time next year. I have a partner (at my school) and we turned in our proposal and received approval for next year. I'll be teaching 60% and she will be teaching 40%. I am thrilled to have this opportunity, and excited to start a new adventure.
I am once again having some serious trouble with my shoulder. I'm going to leave it at that, since the recent wound is a little too fresh to recap. It hurts. Constantly. For me to admit that I'm in pain is pretty major, and I would venture to say that if the doctor says the "surgery" word I might actually listen this time. At this point I'll do just about anything to have it not dislocate. It's THAT bad.
222 pages!
My brother graciously arranged to have the blog printed and bound into a book. I included a dedication in the beginning, added pictures, and wrote a note to Tyler at the end. The book is his... for him to read when he wants to feel closer to his dad. It breaks my heart that someday he will need the book to help trigger his memories.
I have a hard time reading the past entries. In fact, I make it a habit to NOT read it for a few reasons, 1) it's not edited well, and I cringe to see mistakes and poor word choices, 2) I am thankful for the ten and a half months we had together, however, I don't want to relive the "sick" months. I fear my memory will focus on the unhealthy past, instead of the healthy.
So, the Blog Book is on its way... ALL 222 pages of it. The entries stop somewhere in mid-July, but I plan to print the others that are pertinent and include them with the book. Although I don't want to sit and read it, I am excited to see it. Thank you, Todd, it is a gift that Tyler and I will always cherish.
And...
Sorry it was SO expensive... I'm sure that's not what you had in mind. ;)
I began this side of the journey counting days "after." I thought that would never go away, but it did. Then I began counting weeks and was convinced that I would do that forever, but I didn't. Now I often have to think of the date before I can calculate how many months. Getting to this point is definitely bittersweet. We are managing to live quite happily in our new normal.
I have numerous people who help to keep us afloat. I think everyone has days feeling they could sink like a stone. Some days are definitely easier to maintain buoyancy than others. I am grateful for the weightless feeling, because prior to cancer I don't think I appreciated it with my entire being, like I do now. I suppose I am thankful for cancer showing me how vital it is to rest on top of the surface instead of thrashing and treading under it. Life is far too short to spend it trying to find the surface while gasping for breath.
When a crisis hits there are usually two ways people seek help in handling things. Either they shut down and keep things secretive, OR reach out to others and let people in. We chose the latter, mainly because secrets turn into rumors, and I thought we needed all the prayers we could get. I actually enjoyed living in a fish bowl the past the year and a half, and felt comfort in people knowing what was happening without me having to actually say the words. (I desperately needed the fish habitat.) The love and support was incredible and if I had to do it all again, God forbid, I would not change the path we chose.
Although I still update here every so often, it feels a little odd to still live in the same (proverbial) fish bowl. I'm not sure how to fix this, and I am not sure I even need to fix it. I suppose it's simply that I would like to draw the blinds once and awhile and live incognito among the "normal." I definitely don't want to be defined by a tragedy, and hopefully won't live forever being "the one whose husband died". Who knows... maybe I'll change my mind tomorrow, and I'd like to reserve that right.
