moving on, healing and getting over it

Also posted to Widow's Voice

*Photo by shieken

I'm sure that as widows, we have all heard these words in some form or other. "You'll get over it one day." "You're young. You'll move on." "Time heals all wounds." And the like. I remember the first time some well-meaning, naive person attempted to instill these words of 'wisdom' upon me. I think I wanted to drop them.

The truth is that these silly phrases are....a farce. They are just not true. You won't get over it. You won't move on. Time won't heal it. Before I throw you into deep despair as I go on my little tirade of gloom, I'll tell you my theory.

I liken the monumental loss of my beloved husband, in fact any large loss, to the acquisition of a large, ugly and cumbersome backpack.

When this backpack (aka pain) is thrust upon you, you don't think you will ever be able to stand again. It is so heavy and oppressive that it hurts just to breathe. You can't imagine that one day you may be able to stand.

But each day, you grow slightly stronger. One day, you can drag yourself a few centimetres. Eventually, you can crawl a little ways. That bloody backpack is still there. You can't shed it, but you learn to carry it so that it is slightly more manageable.

One day, you find that you are strong enough to stand. It's hard. In fact, it's exhausting and it may make you feel resentful and fed up, but you do it.

Knowing that eventually you may be able to run or dance again, even though you carry this mismatched piece of luggage upon your back, is an achievement in itself. You are not 'over it, moving on or healed", you are just carrying that blasted thing with you because it has become a part of your shape and part of you. It may not match anything else you wear, but you are stronger than you ever believed or knew you could be.

Seedy Sunday, etc....

I woke up this morning SO excited for the fifth annual Seedy Sunday here in town. It was like Christmas as Krista said.
I went with a shopping list of what I was to buy and what I was NOT to buy ( i.e. tomato seeds - I have six envelopes of various varieties and still found myself perousing the tomato seeds. Argh!) I still came home with a few more packages than I had planned but I was much more refrained than other years.
I have been mentally planning my garden for months and am just itching to start planting. I am hoping to get a load of Sea Soil in the next week or two so I can start the process of planting peas and spinach....brocolli....lettuce....oh, the list could go on.
I've decided to forgo my usual plethora of dahlias this year. I LOVE dahlias. Especially the size AAs (dinner plate size). Isn't it interesting that in bra-size AA is small and in dahlias, it's super large??? Anyhow, I've decided to make the best use of my space with veggies and fruits. I am hoping to grow enough to dry, can, pickle and cold store many of my garden's produce for the Winter. We'll see, as I always seen to have this plan....BUT this year, I have met a few other homeschool mommies that would like to (and have in the past) managed to save much of their produce. SO we are planning to have a canning party...or two or three. I love the community feel of it all!
My sister was with me at Seedy Sunday and it was FABULOUS! We talked and planned together....helped eachother scope out things on our lists...helped make decisions AND share seeds! Now if the cilantro won't grow at my house, maybe it will at hers?
I still have an arbour to build, a bean teepee to construct and a stack of tires to acquire for potato planting. But I am going to love it all. I am planningto give Olivia an area of the garden that is hers to plant in it what she'd like. Every year, I am chasing her out of the soil after the seedlings come up, so this year, she can have her own spot to do with what she'd like. If she'd like to make a puddle, that's fine too. Now if I can find some space for this spot!

Onto another topic! Embarassingly, I have never, ever made bread. Today, we've tried. It is still rising at the moment, but we had a fun (and a bit tense) time gettingit all together. Briar has figured out how to get the lid off the flour canister and spread .....a lot while I wasn't looking. How do moms with eight...heck, three kids, do it?????
After our trip to Brent and Penny's farm yesterday, it seems that we'll be most likely getting a couple of chickens in the next while. Jeff was instructed to build a coop, but he says 'we have a coop, it's called a roasting pan.' (jokingly, of course....Right, Jeff?!) I don't know if he'll get to it before he goes back fishing, so I think I may have to build it. In all actuality, although it would be easier for me to get Jeff to do it; I think it may be fun to plan it and build it with Liv. I so want my daughter to know how to use power tools and a hammer. I just have to do some research about coops first.....
We are looking forward to free-range organic eggs from our OWN chickens!!! No roosters, though.

I am also hoping that our dog, Freckles, can curb his herding impulse enough to let the chickens be!

On the crafty front, I bought some sweet fabric while in town as well. It's so not Amy Butler , Heather Bailey or Anna Maria Horner but it's cute none the less. I especially like the dots.
I amde the kids backpacks this week. Briar has had a backpack fetish for awhile and I was having a tough time finding a child's backpack that wasn't emblazoned with a super hero or a princess. Argh. Anyhow, I quickly made these up for the kids and they love 'em. I love it when that works out.

I have heard nothing from our Etsy store. I have to say that I am getting severely disheartened. I had hoped to slightly supplement Jeff's fishing income with some few dollars that I could make selling my crowns, etc. Waldorfmama started her shop on Feb. 15th and has already sold 27 things!!!! SO awesome for her. I am truly pleased for her....but I am sulking a bit. Anyhow, I am trying not to sound like I 'feel sorry for myself'....but I guess, I kind of do?! :) I guess, I'll just have to keep trying. Okay. That is ALL I'll say about it.

simple sisters

My sister, Kirsten, is away for work....The silence is killing me. She is one of the few people left in the world not in the twenty first century. She lacks a cell phone and cable tv. (Strangely, she is hugely more informed about world issues. Must be due to her incessant CBC listening.) I can't contact her and am literally counting the hours til her return. I don't really have anything of great urgency to announce to her. I just want to chat.

My life goes something like this:

Me: I'm bored. *call Kirsten*

Me: I'm lonely. *call Kirsten*

Me: I'm angry. *call Kirsten*

...You get the point. Even before Jeff died, we were in constant contact. Really, instead of a phone, we should have walkie-talkies. She'd be 'Brute Force'. I'd be 'Will Power'. "Come in, Brute Force. Some grossly scintillating news. Come in. Over."

My poor brother-in-law has a lot to deal with. Work, twins, renos, dissertation, fabulous and amazing wife....and a sister-in-law who comes over unannounced to eat more than her share of his dinner, help herself to gross amount of chocolate chips (They have EIGHT bags!!!!!! I'm working on whittling it down for them), and monopolize his wife's ear.

Kirsten is one of the few people I know that I can tell everything, and I mean EVERYthing, to. And, best of all, she still loves me! (Although I think she's too kind and empathetic of others to come right out and announce that she thought anyone was a 'schmuck'. *Note to self: Ask Kirsten if she does think I'm a schmuck and is too worried about hurting me....)

Chances are if I've achieved some half-witted stunt, she has performed some variation of the same theme at sometime too. It is immensely comforting to be in good company with another 'idiot' whom I think is funny, brilliant, kind and sweet. Like the time I unwittingly walked through town with pants split from the rear waistband all the way to the crotch. Each step alternately flashed one large white buttock and then the other. *Flash!* *Flash!* Since I wear a thong (did I really just tell cyberspace that I wear floss in my ass?), there was no 'cheek coverage'. When people slowed and stared, I genuinely thought they were stunned by the beauty of my dog. My stupidity astounds me now. Mortifying.

But when I called my sister, she had had a similar experience while walking down a busy street in Vancouver. With each step, her skirt had slowly been hiked up under her backpack. Gradually she was showing her (luckily for her) round little underwear clad bum to all who walked past. She had sweetly wondered at the amazing joy emitted by all that day. They had smiled at her and she smiled back. So sweet and 'simple'.

It's these things that make me love her. I am never alone in my naivety and bumbling way through life. But Kirsten, she finds joy in the small and silly things that life presents. Even her complaints cause me smile. She can't bitch about anyone without defending them at the same time.

This morning, I went to grab the cheese from the fridge. I noticed there was a sour smell eminating from within. Thinking this was strange as I had washed out the fridge two days ago, I got to work preparing cheese slices for my little man. Like being struck upside the head, I suddenly remembered that I turned off the fridge to clean it thus saving electricity....on WEDNESDAY. I'm an Earth-friendly gal. I can save the hydro and save some cash, right? But now, whatever I saved in electricity and money, I have now wasted in wasted food. Bloody hell. Initial though, "Damn it. I'm gonna eat it anyway. Can't waste good food on stupidity." Second thought, "Dude. I sound like 'Mom and the composting onion' (long story). Gonna call Kirsten and admit my stupidity. Kinda like the time she melted foil to the bottom of her new stove, right?"

But she isn't home. So I write about it on the blog. Now if I collapse and die from food poisoning after ingesting rotten condiments, she won't immediately know the cause when the cops pull up to her door. Maybe she'll read the blog after and figure it out.....

give me one reason

Photo by Algo

Also posted on Widow's Voice

You know the term "It happened for a reason"? I hate it. I have used it myself. But I hate it.
It seems to say that everything, good or bad, was supposed to happen to make way for some 'better' purpose. It's sappy and it sucks. It's almost up there with the "He's in a better place".
With this rationale, maybe because Jeff died, a cherubic little one was born into the loving arms of its' parents. Maybe he died to stop the excessive amount of fossil fuels being consumed by his gargantuan beast of a truck. Maybe he had learned all he was meant to in this lifetime and had to go to 'Heaven' to process it.
I say "BAA HUMBUG"! I hate to sound....evil, but those parents can have some other kid because I'd rather have my big hairy guy back. I would have let Jeff drive my little gas-meiser. And I can tell you, there were still a few things I had left to tell Jeff so he certainly didn't know it all yet.
I don't think there was any bloody reason. I think it just happened because it was 'meant' to. Good or bad, there was no 'reason'. It was just the way it was/is/will be.
And I think I just have to suck it up, pull up my socks and forget trying to find 'reasons', meanings or any other message hidden in his death. He's gone and it's the way our lives parted. Nothing I can do about it.
So I'll be a big girl (at least for a few moments) and carrying this backpack....and if there is any reason, I'll realize that it was to make me and our two little ones strong, empathetic and remind us to not take life and love for granted.

chaos and panic

I don't know what's wrong with me. I went to the first support group meeting for people and their children experiencing trauma and met some other young widows. Liv met other children who have gone through similar experiences (loss of a large magnitude...not exact experiences, but similar). It felt good to see what other widows looked like. They don't look like they have black holes for eyes sockets as I feel I do at times. They don't look as lost as I'm sure they feel. I would pass them in the grocery store and be unaware that we are part of the same awful group that no one wants to be part of. I didn't think I'd cry or feel overwhelming emotions. But I did.
Now, I'm not sure if it is the cold that I'm fighting that is causing me this difficulty or if it was the resurfacing of fresh wounds but I spent the night and some of today fighting off panic attacks. Waves of terror. Feelings of losing control and fainting. Heart beating like a drum at an african dance. I am not liking this new transition. I feel scared to go out today. I am nervous of being alone. I am scared.
I keep hearing about the five stages of grief. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. I feel that I have felt all of these at various times in this journey. But I keep feeling them again and in different orders. Who made up this list? I want to ask them a few questions? Like, how do they think that grieving can be such a cut-and-dried process. Can you go backwards? Can you feel a multitude of these things in this confusingly simple list?
I hate this person. I hate this situation. I hate all of this. I want to be free of it, this goddamned stupid backpack of fucking pain, for just awhile. I want to sleep and rest and come at it fresh faced in the morning. But there is no reprieve. No break. Just varying waves of varying heights.
Just when I think I have things slightly figured out, they fall apart worse than before.

bloody hell

How did this happen? How did my life become this? I still can't believe it. I still expect him to call. I still expect to see him when I go out to the workshop. I still think I can smell him, hear him, feel him in the night...But he's not here. I just can't fathom that he's gone forever. He's never coming home to me. He will never leave notes on the bathroom mirror for me to find after he has left for work. He'll never sing songs for me into the answering machine. He'll never brush my hair while we watch tv or go out to buy me dark chocolate after the kids have gone to bed. He'll never scratch my back. He'll never wake up with me in the night when I am freaking out about some natural catastrophe that I am sure is about to strike. He'll never buy me 'happy socks' (the rainbow striped socks that he bought me to cheer me up). He'll never sing Olivia to sleep or rock Briar in the rocking chair when he wakes in the middle of the night. What am I going to do without him?! I am so lonely for him. I don't want anyone else around. I just want him. I want him to make it better. To make this hurt stop.

Never have I cried over a toothbrush, a phonebill or a two by four. Now the toothbrush means that mine has been replaced by a new one, while his will remain the same forever. The phonebill has recorded each phone call from and to the boat and now will cease to record his phone number. I can see that his last phonecall was to me. The two by four I didn't want to use because he had put it in the workshop. He had intended it for some purpose that I am unaware of. I am still nervous to use it in case he needs it. But he's gone. He doesn't need it anymore. There are so many symbols of his absence.

I am having trouble with the 'pity look'. I know people feel badly and don't know what to say....but the 'pity look' makes it all worse. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want to talk about it. I just want you to get on with your stuff. I may join in or I may stare into space, but don't give me the 'pity look'. It makes me want to puke, or scream, or cry. It makes me feel violent.

I thought that things would be getting a bit better by now. Is it possible that they are getting worse? The acute pain and shock of it all is wearing away. In its' wake, it leaves this awful tangible ache. It's like being covered...no, smothered in a blanket of sadness. This metaphor may seen overly dramatic, but it's true. It's hard to breathe at times beneath this all encompassing bereft feeling. It's a physical ache at times. During the day, it's bad, but not as bad as when the kids are in bed. It's awful during the day to try to stay calm and 'normal' with the occasional cry. But at night, it wraps around me and drowns me. As a friend of mine who lost a child said to me, I have become a 'mommy by day, a mourner by night'.

We painted the new playhouse today. I think I totally over did it. Marnie helped for the majority of it. After she left, I worked on it with Olivia. Briar rode in the backpack for much of it but screamed in my ear the whole way through. Liv's new outfit is covered in paint. Briar's coat has hand prints on it. I have paint in my newly dyed hair. Normally this wouldn't bug me....at least, it wouldn't cause me to feel like I'm going to fall over the 'edge'. But tonight. Tonight it did. I swore. I said 'shut up'. I said things and spat while I said them. I stomped my feet and basically had a temper tantrum....over paint. So not the mommy that I had hoped to be. Where did that mommy go? My poor, poor little ones. I called my sister. She came and made dinner for them while I had a bath. Thank you, Kirsten. I do NOT know what I would do without you. I'm a spaz and I'm sorry.

Will I ever be a truly functioning human being again?

14 weeks

My love,
It’s been fourteen weeks since you left me….fourteen weeks. It’s such a ridiculous number. I want to keep time in weeks as it seems that less time has elapsed. I’ve always thought that those who kept track of their children’s ages in smaller increments were slightly unhinged. “Oh! Bobby-Jo is 137 weeks old! Lisa-beth is 92 months.” I can’t believe how time has passed. Now I wonder if I, too, must now mark time in months rather than weeks.
I still feel that you will walk through the door. The dog is going to announce your arrival with happy barking. The kids will squeal when you open the screen door and jump at you yelling, “Uppy! Uppy!” Does this feeling ever go away? In some ways, I hope so. The expectation and the following crash that happens with every hopeful thought is devastating. Conversely, not expecting you to come back to me fills me with sadness and dread. It will mean that I know that you’re gone. I’m not ready to know that yet. I’m not ready to let go. I’m not ready to have you be part of the past. To me, you are still part of the present. I don’t want that shift. But it hurts to feel that somewhere deep in my heart, you are coming back to me. That you’ll return. Having my mind dispute this makes my heart want to stage a mutiny.
My thoughts and feelings are becoming a terrifying roller-coaster ride as I begin to emerge from the numbing fog. I try to hold myself together. I’ll think I’m doing okay. And then I crash. I lose it and cry. I can’t keep on top of anything. I feel disappointed in myself and I know that I am disappointing others. This breaks me, Jeff. I don’t want to affect anyone else with this grief and fucked up mental state. I want to be able to walk upright, be self-sufficient and strong. This sadness and exhaustion is grossly inconvenient and….embarrassing. It makes me feel weak and impotent. A waste. A letdown.
I am trying to feel brief moments of happiness without guilt. I don’t know if guilt is actually the correct word. It just doesn’t feel ….natural to genuinely smile and laugh without you to share these things with. It’s forced and awkward. I am constantly analyzing my thoughts and actions. Am I okay? Am I behaving normally? Am I making people uncomfortable?
I’ve learned so much in the last fourteen weeks. About myself. About society. About other people’s reactions to pain. This learning process has made me stronger as all the people who don’t actually ‘know’ have said. But not because I am learning how to heal. Only because I have learned to carry it with everything else. Like an overstuffed, over-sized backpack. My muscles grow stronger but the load isn’t any lighter.
I just wish that I could find some peace. A solid answer to why and where you went. A knowledge that I would ‘see’ you again wouldn’t be unwelcome! But even if I knew, I was alone. That I have to face this future without your whisper in my ear or your kisses in my dreams, that I would have an answer. I’d know if it was worth searching for the possibility of you.
I miss you. I want you back. I want you to grow old with me like you were supposed to. I want you to sing songs to me in the answering machine for me to find when I wake in the morning while you’re fishing. I want to find the post-it notes around the house that you’d hide on me only to find at unexpected moments. I want to hear your cough and laugh through the kitchen wall as you watch your favourite shows while fixing something in the garage. This is just not fucking fair. I DO NOT want to be without you. Alone.
Why did this happen?!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????????
Damn it.

I love you, the whole pie. Even though right now, I’m pissed off. See? Now, I’m learning. I am really fucking angry, but I am saying, “I LOVE YOU”. And I do, Jeffrey. I do.

Moe Schmoe

Our cat, Moe, puts up with everything. Literally everything.
Briar, the perpetually love machine, carts him around upside-down as an impromptu backpack. Moe regularly endures being cuddled in a well-meaning but overly zealous fashion while the little people in our house attempt to fall asleep. He rarely complains when being dressed in baby clothes or as he zips down the driveway in a doll stroller. Once, I even had to interrupt a friend mid-conversation to inform her that she was standing on Moe's tail as she spoke.

We had planned to keep Moe indoors for two weeks after our move to ensure that he knew where 'home' was. We didn't want our special and sweet teddybear of a cat to go missing. After a week of Moe's pleading, however, we succumbed to his requests for some outside air. He stuck close to home but rolled around in the fresh grass as if he was expressing his extreme pleasure in the luxuriousness of its' lush green carpet. After that he came and went as if he had always lived here.
One morning last week, as the plumber and contractor came and went I noticed that Moe was looking a bit nervous with all the activity involved with all the new bodies in our house. He stuck close to the ground and ran in short bursts from corner to corner of the room with a wary look in his eye.
That was the last time I saw him. Heartbroken, the kids and I made ads pleading for Moe's safe return. Liv wrote her own posters and I went from door to door asking our new neighbours if they had glimpsed "Mohito Meow Mein".
Days passed and no Moe. I started to brace myself for the worse and worried as I made my rounds yet again to the ditches on our street that I would find his little body mingled with the mud and weeds found there.
Three days later as I sat on the toilet (Sorry for too-much-info there) in my nightly preparations for bed long after the kids had fallen asleep, I thought I heard a slight "mew". Listening more intently, I realized that it was coming from the wall beside me. Staring in disbelief at the drywall between the bathtub and toilet the contractor had repaired three days previously it dawned on me. Moe is in the wall!!!!!
I ran to the garage to arm myself with some tools all the while loudly reassuring poor, entombed Moe that it was going to be okay. I ripped that wall apart, pulled out a pile of insulation, and to my joy and amazement two little golden/green eyes stared back at me.
An extremely grateful Moe devoured his food and lapped up water for an amount of time I would have thought abnormal if the situation had not been so far from normal.
Although he was so dehydrated even his little puckered bum-hole was even dried out and flaky (again, too-much-info - Sorry), he has fully recovered after his under the bathtub burial and he doesn't even seem to hold any ill feelings toward the bathroom.

Our sweet little, Moe-lasses! We love him to bits and pieces!

Merry Christmas!!!

Catching up on the Christmas blogging.... We have had a wonderful and quiet Christmas. It has been relaxing! I finally feel like the stress and the business is slowing down a bit. It is Briar's 1st Christmas and I think he has been enjoying himself. Olivia has had a blast! From all the lights on houses to Christmas pageants, she has been really busy. Briar has begun pushing himself. He is also gettting up on all fours the last couple of days. He will soon be crawling and I am TERRIFIED!! I'll have to be so vigilant with all the tiny 'choker-sized' toys that Olivia has.
Our happy little girl as we hunt for our Christmas tree...
The one we picked and Jeff... I always feel SO badly cutting down a tree at Christmas. I imagine all the trees that were sacrificed for the holidays and think it would be wonderful if they could 'grow up'. Anyhow, Olivia and I said a little 'Thank-you' to the tree for being our Christmas tree. Olivia also thanked 'Mother Earth' (my little hippy girl).
This is the tree that Olivia wanted...
Olivia and I on the Spit for a walk...
Briar in his sling...
Olivia and Eli out for a walk...
My friend, Heidi, with Briar in the backpack sound asleep.
Jeff and the kids having a snuggle...