Someone Very Special

After Jeff died, I just felt so off balance...not myself...making bad decisions and then doubting myself.  That's not who I am.  I know I need to deal with the pain of missing him, there is no escape or distraction from that, but that's what I've done this past year and a half is deal but then also distract.  I allow myself the time to be sad and know that it's normal and necessary but I also look for distractions sometimes too because mourning is just so exhausting and I don't want to be sad all the time.

I'm sad that he's not here and the life I had with him, which I was so happy with, is gone.  I not only mourn him but I mourn who I was with him and the life I had with him.

Nobody can ever replace him.  I will always love him.  If he hadn't died, I would be with him still, for the rest of my life.  But we had no choice in that.

I also haven't let any of my "distractions" too far in.  I'm good at dodging and weaving, escaping when things get too close to my heart.  I'm good at pulling back, and I know it.  Hence, why I haven't gone on a third date yet.

But since he's been gone, I also hoped and asked Jeff to send me someone who would make me feel the way he made me feel and I have connected with someone very special.  Someone who makes me feel adored.

I'm almost weary of writing about him because I don't want to jinx it.

It has only been a short amount of time that I've been communicating with him but he has proven himself to be a steadfast and safe harbor for me in this raging storm of grief.

He lives in Wyoming and I met him via eHarmony.

I have already tried to sabotage myself and come up with reasons why I shouldn't trust him because of his muddied past but he has been patient and understanding.  I opened up so quickly to him and this scares me enormously, because I lost the last person I felt so safe with and who was the most important person to me in the world, which neither one of us had any control over.  I can't help but worry about losing again.

But as my new man says, we can either risk the chance of being hurt or we can run away and protect ourselves and potentially miss out on the one thing we've been looking for.

What I have noticed is that Wyoming is different than my other "distractions."  I thought I liked Apple Guy, but Wyoming blows him out of the water!  My rational brain keeps saying that our attraction with each other is because this is all so new, it's a passing fancy, that at some time we will get bored or overwhelmed or exhausted in the amount of time we spend thinking about each other and talking to each other, which is what happened with all of my other "distractions."

But then I remember that, it didn't fade too much with Jeff.  Jeff and I knew within the first couple weeks that we loved each other and knew this was special and after 10 years, I still just wanted to hang out with him.  We never ran out of things to talk about, we never got bored with each other, we spent time apart with our own separate interests and friends, but he was always the one I wanted to tell about my day and hear about his day.

When Jeff and I started dating, he still allowed me to feel strong and independent while I was with him.  But he was also my rock, my shelter in the times that I needed strength and safety.  This is how I feel about Wyoming.  I get excited to hear his voice, to see his name and face pop up on my phone.  I think about things that happen throughout my day that I can't wait to tell him and I want to know what his day is like and if he is safe.

These feelings have evolved so quickly and they remind me of my first few weeks with Jeff.

I'm noticing that Wyoming is not just a "distraction" anymore, he is turning into so much more than that.  He really is so important to me.  He is the only person I've met since my husband who I feel safe with.  I talk to him about everything.  He listens and asks questions about my life with Jeff.  There are so few men out there with his confidence and strength and selflessness.  He does not feel threatened by Jeff or my grief.

I have no idea what the future has in store.  All I know is that, right now, this new man makes me feel...exquisite.  He is the first man that makes me want to go on a third date.

Eighteen Months

It's been a year and a half since Jeff died.  I've read a lot of grief literature in a year and a half.  I thought I would give a little snippet of some of the most memorable and meaningful literature I've read.  I meant to give a pretty extensive review of these books but that was a little more than I could handle so you're getting a "snippet."


I really found Theresa Caputo's book There's More to Life Than This helpful.  Some of my favorite messages and quotes are:

• There is nothing you could have done to prevent their death.
• Your loved one wants you to embrace life without the burden of fear or death. 
• I love the idea of a "soul circle." Right after I finished reading this book, I met up with a friend of mine who had stage iv breast cancer. She was in remission for a couple years and it came back right around the time Jeff was diagnosed. We had the same oncologist. I told her about getting tickets to go see Theresa Caputo and she asked me if I believed in that kind of stuff. I didn't know much about Theresa Caputo before I went to her show but I believe in the idea of energy. My friend is a physics teacher and I asked her about energy and the idea that energy doesn't just disappear it takes on another form. That's what I believe in. She has since passed away.  I gave her this book about a month before she died.  I hope she got a chance to read it and was able to take comfort in it.

Theresa Caputo's sequel You Can't Make This Stuff Up also had some quotes that helped me:

• When happy people can't change the event that makes them blue, they change the way they react to it. 
• Spirit says you have to be happy with yourself, and if you let someone else make you feel bad, it's your own fault.

Widows Wear Stilettos by Carole Brody Fleet and Syd Harriet is mainly for young widows.  It gives ideas and opportunities for journaling and also provides exercises to help deal with grief and move forward. 

• I loved the line "there is absolutely no such thing as 'being prepared' for the loss of your husband."
• I also particularly loved the chapter on people who say the dumbest things. There were some real  doozies: "You're too young to be a widow."  No kidding like this was some kind of career choice I made! Another one: "You're young and pretty you'll find someone else."  I don't want anyone else! I want my dead husband to not be dead!
• In one chapter she says that you should take the time to really feel. Make an appointment with yourself with no technology and some quiet time to feel the emotions of the day whether they are sad, grateful, happy, overwhelmed, whatever they may be.
• Don't put on a "mask" and hide or force emotions away because they will still be there wreaking havoc.  I do this. Almost every night in the first year, I journal but in the form of "a letter to Jeff."  I tell him all about my day and my hopes and fears just like I would talk to him at night. This was super helpful, especially in the first year.  I haven't done it as often these last few months, but I still try and do it at least once a week.  But I'm not feeling guilty about not writing every night, I attribute it to the passage of time and moving forward.  I've noticed I tell other people about my hopes and fears and my day now... 
• Another chapter is about dating. I like the idea of after the first date/dates you go on after your husband has died, the guilt that follows is called "cheating twinges."  I feel like I had cheating twinges when I first started dating 5 months ago.  Those have been dissipating but I also attribute that to the passage of time, "practice," and trying to move forward. 
• The part where she said you might feel anger towards your departed husband after an especially bad date was hilarious.  She says more than likely your husband is probably laughing since he is watching closely.  I totally agree with this.  I feel like Jeff is definitely watching and I'm sure he's laughing a lot, not only at what I do on dates but what I do in general!  Also, he's laughing and shaking his head at what my friends and I get into!

The Death of a Husband: Reflections for a Grieving Wife by Helen Reichert Lambin is mainly poems about widows' grief. Some are very sad and it's painful to read them, especially if you are trying to be happy. There are a couple that made me smile and a couple that I related to but, overall, not many were my cup of tea.  Here are the titles of the few I liked:

• "The Unset Clock and the Wound Up Dog"
• "Party"
• "Complaint Department"
• "Ordinary Time"

Some quotes from Widow to Widow: Thoughtful, Practical Ideas for Rebuilding Your Life by Genevieve Davis Ginsburg were:

• Saturday nights were worse than other nights.  I found that nights in general were painful though.
• True  widows are impossible to please; they are offended when not invited and decline when they are.  Every widow understands that conflict.  Why can't their friends and family?
• With families, each relationship has individually changed and has had a rippling affect with no beginning and no set ending.  What has happened, first of all, is that you have changed.  You are more vulnerable, more sensitive, more confused, more angry, and more afraid to name a few of your new unwanted acquisitions.
• The days prior to an actual date, like birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, or any other special date, were more difficult than the actual date itself.  I definitely experienced this.  I would worry and fret the days up to the actual special day the first year, but then when the day itself got there, I was fine.  I'm noticing that in the second year, since the "firsts" are all over, I'm not planning so sometimes those days sneak up on me so the day itself can sometimes be really hard now.  I know with time and "practice," it will get better.

What Remains by Carole Radziwell was a really good read.  This is her memoir so it's got a lot about her life in general but the quotes I really liked that I could relate to regarding grief and cancer were:

• "We have cancer. We need a biopsy. We are researching treatment options."  The idea that it wasn't his cancer but our cancer is something I definitely related to.  I never said Jeff's oncologist, I said our oncologist.
• "I will have to take control, because I am his wife now. It's my job"
• "I had been hoping that someone would step in at some point and grab the wheel. I was waiting for someone to recognize how unsuited I was and take it away.  It was a desperate and lonely feeling to realize that it was more or less up to me."

Some books I read that were also helpful were:

• A New Normal: Learning to Live with Grief and Loss by Darlene F. Cross
• Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman
• Finding Your Way After Your Spouse Dies by Marta Felber
• Let Me Grieve But Not Forever: A Journey Out of the Darkness of Loss by Verdell Davis

Some books that were super helpful when Jeff got sick and helped me cope and prepare while he was still here were:

• help me live: 20 things people with cancer want you to know by Lori Hope.  This book is phenomenal!  I recommend it for everyone who is dealing in any way with cancer or chronic illness in general.  Helpful is not a good enough word to describe this book.
• When the Man You Love Is Ill: Doing Your Best for Your Partner Without Losing Yourself by Dr. Dorree Lynn and Florence Isaacs
• How to Cope Better When Someone You Love Has Cancer by William Penzer

Hospice was so fantastic.  Even though Jeff was in hospice for such a short amount of time, because he was in hospice, after he died, I would get a quarterly magazine/pamphlet in the mail that would go through the stages of grief and what a person could potentially be going through three, six, and nine months into their grief and then the year mark as well.  I just wish they would continue it into the second year.  I found these quarterly pieces of literature so comforting and helpful.


My bereavement group meetings would give out pamphlets and handouts as well.  Not all of them related to me, but most of them did so that was also very helpful.


I also read quite a few widow blogs: 

• My absolute favorite is "Young, Widowed & Rebuilding."  I just related to Wendy so much and I've noticed that our journey has been similar, she's just years ahead of me. 
• Another one that really helped me is "Good Grief: A Young Widow's Journey."  I just loved Noel's voice and her personality in general.

Hopefully this grief literature review helped.  I know all this literature helped me!

New Experiences and Mixed Feelings

I am living my life and having fun, new experiences.  Experiences that I am grateful for and would probably never have had if Jeff was still here with me.

I feel guilty about that.

It's hard to think about what I would not have experienced if my husband was still alive and I have mixed emotions about that. These new experiences are shaping who I am but I'm only having them because my husband is dead.  Talk about a mind trip.

Then I start thinking about the experiences this last year and a half that I would have had with him that I will never get the chance to have...like having a baby.

If he hadn't gotten cancer and died, we would probably have a baby right now.

We never really discussed it in concrete details. It was more of an assumption and a maybe. But I was secretly preparing without telling him. I bought What to Expect Before You're Expecting and I had started taking folic acid.  When I bought my new car, I thought about buying a "family" car.  I thought about which room in the house would be the nursery.  I had built-ins put in thinking about how useful they would be in that room once the baby was here. I was thinking of names.

All of this was in my own head. I never shared it with him because I wasn't quite sure I was even ready for a baby.

Then, when he was diagnosed, we actually talked about how the pressure to have a baby was off of us because we needed to focus on fighting and ultimately beating the cancer. I was actually relieved that this pressure to have a baby had evaporated, which wasn't fake. I really was relieved, almost like I dodged a bullet.  The mixed feelings I have thinking back on all this...

I think back to all the times people have asked me about babies and how I feel about not having one with Jeff and I always talk about how we never really wanted babies, which is the truth. We weren't dying to have them.  Babies just weren't something that either of us really, really wanted.  Babies were one of those things that were just supposed to happen to us, an expectation.

But, even though I really did feel that way, I was actually secretly planning on having one with him. I'm not sure which is the lie...I think both have aspects of the truth.

Now, I'm so glad we didn't get pregnant.  I am so relieved that we didn't have a baby, because I would be raising a baby by myself and that baby would never know his/her father.  But that also makes me feel guilty.  So many mixed feelings.

I'm sure if I had gotten pregnant, I would never have regretted it, my life would just be so different than it is now.  I would still be having new experiences but totally different experiences and I would be sharing them with Jeff.

It's such a weird dichotomy to be happy and sad at the same time.

Sheryl Sandberg

Sheryl Sandburg posted this on her facebook page.  I cried reading it...it brought me right back to when Jeff died.

Sheryl Sandberg 

Today is the end of sheloshim for my beloved husband—the first thirty days. Judaism calls for a period of intense mourning known as shiva that lasts seven days after a loved one is buried. After shiva, most normal activities can be resumed, but it is the end of sheloshim that marks the completion of religious mourning for a spouse.  A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: “Let me not die while I am still alive.” I would have never understood that prayer before losing Dave. Now I do.  I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vast emptiness as well.   But when I can, I want to choose life and meaning.   And this is why I am writing: to mark the end of sheloshim and to give back some of what others have given to me. While the experience of grief is profoundly personal, the bravery of those who have shared their own experiences has helped pull me through. Some who opened their hearts were my closest friends. Others were total strangers who have shared wisdom and advice publicly. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hope that it helps someone else. In the hope that there can be some meaning from this tragedy.   I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser.  I have gained a more profound understanding of what it is to be a mother, both through the depth of the agony I feel when my children scream and cry and from the connection my mother has to my pain. She has tried to fill the empty space in my bed, holding me each night until I cry myself to sleep. She has fought to hold back her own tears to make room for mine. She has explained to me that the anguish I am feeling is both my own and my children’s, and I understood that she was right as I saw the pain in her own eyes.   I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me. Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.  I have learned some practical stuff that matters. Although we now know that Dave died immediately, I didn’t know that in the ambulance. The trip to the hospital was unbearably slow. I still hate every car that did not move to the side, every person who cared more about arriving at their destination a few minutes earlier than making room for us to pass. I have noticed this while driving in many countries and cities. Let’s all move out of the way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.   I have learned how ephemeral everything can feel—and maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can be pulled right out from under you with absolutely no warning. In the last thirty days, I have heard from too many women who lost a spouse and then had multiple rugs pulled out from under them. Some lack support networks and struggle alone as they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong to me that we abandon these women and their families when they are in greatest need.  I have learned to ask for help—and I have learned how much help I need. Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO, the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned. They arranged. They told me where to sit and reminded me to eat. They are still doing so much to support me and my children.   I have learned that resilience can be learned. Adam M. Grant taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that I can work on all three. Personalization—realizing it is not my fault. He told me to ban the word “sorry.” To tell myself over and over, This is not my fault. Permanence—remembering that I won’t feel like this forever. This will get better. Pervasiveness—this does not have to affect every area of my life; the ability to compartmentalize is healthy.   For me, starting the transition back to work has been a savior, a chance to feel useful and connected. But I quickly discovered that even those connections had changed. Many of my co-workers had a look of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help but weren’t sure how. Should I mention it? Should I not mention it? If I mention it, what the hell do I say? I realized that to restore that closeness with my colleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in. And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questions and I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how they felt. One colleague admitted she’d been driving by my house frequently, not sure if she should come in. Another said he was paralyzed when I was around, worried he might say the wrong thing. Speaking openly replaced the fear of doing and saying the wrong thing. One of my favorite cartoons of all time has an elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, “It’s the elephant.” Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.   At the same time, there are moments when I can’t let people in. I went to Portfolio Night at school where kids show their parents around the classroom to look at their work hung on the walls. So many of the parents—all of whom have been so kind—tried to make eye contact or say something they thought would be comforting. I looked down the entire time so no one could catch my eye for fear of breaking down. I hope they understood.   I have learned gratitude. Real gratitude for the things I took for granted before—like life. As heartbroken as I am, I look at my children each day and rejoice that they are alive. I appreciate every smile, every hug. I no longer take each day for granted. When a friend told me that he hates birthdays and so he was not celebrating his, I looked at him and said through tears, “Celebrate your birthday, goddammit. You are lucky to have each one.” My next birthday will be depressing as hell, but I am determined to celebrate it in my heart more than I have ever celebrated a birthday before.   I am truly grateful to the many who have offered their sympathy. A colleague told me that his wife, whom I have never met, decided to show her support by going back to school to get her degree—something she had been putting off for years. Yes! When the circumstances allow, I believe as much as ever in leaning in. And so many men—from those I know well to those I will likely never know—are honoring Dave’s life by spending more time with their families.   I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to my family and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they will continue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void, when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, only their faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for them knows no bounds.  I was talking to one of these friends about a father-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan to fill in for Dave. I cried to him, “But I want Dave. I want option A.” He put his arm around me and said, “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.”   Dave, to honor your memory and raise your children as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick the shit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn for option A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, “There is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love.” I love you, Dave.

Seventeen Months

It's the end of the school year.  This is one of the most stressful times of the year for teachers.  We are tired and overworked and for some reason, parents and students are just now recognizing grades and demanding that they be allowed to do anything and everything to improve those grades.

This is also the time of year where we see the end in sight.  This is when Jeff and I would be planning something fun.  He would usually take a week off of work while I was on summer break and we would usually start planning all of the fantastic places we would be eating, since our lives focused mainly on food and enjoying it together. 

I am happy for the summer to come but it also makes me a little sad that I will not have him to share it with.

I hope he approves of all of the changes I have made this year without him. 

I hope he is with me in both my good moments and bad. 

I hope he is happy and pain free. 

And most of all, I hope he knows that I love him dearly and always will.

Expectations and Disappointment

Expectation is defined as:

1. To look forward to the probable occurrence or appearance of

2. To consider as reasonable, due, or justified
 
Disappointment is defined as:

1. To fail to satisfy the hope, desire, or expectation of.

2. To frustrate or thwart

Here's the problem with having high expectations; you will inevitably be disappointed.  I've been struggling with the idea of having high expectations for and in my life and then being utterly disappointed sometimes.  

This is something that I've thought about a lot this past week or so.  When I'm feeling down because I've been disappointed, I think that I should lower my expectations or have no expectations at all, which would then lesson the disappointment I feel when my expectations are not met.  

But then I always go back to what my life would be like if I didn't have high expectations:

Would I have gotten my masters degree and be in a fantastic career and my dream school if I had little or no expectations?  

Would I have gone out on my own and bought my own home in a fantastic neighborhood if I had low or no expectations?  

Would I be with a loser of a man who may have lived longer than Jeff but would have never made me as happy as Jeff did, even in the short amount of time I had with him, if I didn't have high expectations?

So even with all of the disappointment I feel sometimes when my high expectations for others, myself, and my life are not met, I still feel it's a better way to live than having low or no expectations.  With the lows, I also experience the highs when my expectations are met.

Looking back, I'm glad I have had high expectations in my life and, looking forward, even with the inevitable disappointment looming, I will continue to have high expectations.

Another Guilt Monster Attack or Just Plain Old Grief?

I'm leaving for a girls trip today to Palm Springs for a little weekend away.  I was packing last night and tucked away in the corner of my closet is a shoebox where I keep all of the cards that Jeff and I gave each other throughout our ten years together.  I just couldn't help but pull it out and start reading. 

I made it through all of the cards I had given him, remembering how quick I was in the beginning of our relationship to express how much he meant to me and how much I loved him.  I was proud of myself for being that open and vulnerable.

But then I read the first card from him and started bawling.  You know, the really ugly, snotty, blubbering, can't-catch-your-breath kind of sobs?

There's just something about packing to go on a trip now that gets me.  I went on plenty of girls' trips while Jeff and I were together so it's not that we never traveled apart, actually, I traveled more without him than I did with him.

I just miss him.  I miss asking him if I should take this or that.  I miss him being there when I got home from the trip and asking me what kind of shenanigans all the girls got into.  I miss his love and comfort knowing he was there at home.  He was my home.

I'm not sure if I should call this a guilt monster attack or just chock it up to plain old grief.  I guess it doesn't really matter.

I'm tired this morning but am ready to relax and enjoy my friends this weekend.  I don't have any anxiety or tension, just a calm, slightly sad feeling.

I compare a good cry to a rainy day in San Diego.  They are rare but when they come, they wash away a lot of crap and things feel refreshed and clean once they clear up.

Here I come Palm Springs!