And Then We Became Me

When I first began seeing my therapist, shortly before Babydoll's Daddy passed away, I was struggling with the idea of no longer being half of a couple.  His passing was imminent and we had been us for so long, I didn't know how not to be us.

I was sitting on her couch, legs tucked under me and tissue clutched in hand, when I asked her: "When will we become just me?"  She looked at me, with a slightly sad smile and said simply: "It's going to take awhile.  But you'll get there."

Nearly a year later, I have gotten to the point where I am mostly thinking in terms of "me" and "I" instead of "us" and "we."  It's been hard.  It's been shitty.

It really fucking sucked, to be blunt.

When I started this blog, after the birth of our daughter, I would have never guessed the direction it would take.  The point of my writing, then, was to track our progress as a family in becoming healthier, happier, and tighter.  It was more for me, than anyone else.  A place to store recipes I came up with; the transitions we made in what we ate; the struggles we faced as new parents and then as parents of a toddler; my personal struggles with being an impatient person, a working mother, a Judgy McJudgerson, basically an unhappy lady.

Lord, if I'd only known then the extent of unhappiness I could feel, I'd have kept my damn mouth shut and just stuck to ranting about GMOs and toddler terrorism.

The thing is, I've learned a lot and done a lot in a year's time.  I've had a few breakdowns and more than a few rebounds.  What cancer did to our family, and what I allowed BD's mother to do to our family, as bad as that all was, I'm a better person for it.  That's the point, right?  God wouldn't have thrust so much upon me if I didn't have a few things to learn.  It was an opportunity to grow.  I have made peace with that.

I still miss him.  Every day, I miss him.  I still love him.  I've come to terms with who he was and who we were as a couple, and I've sorted through the guilt and grief associated with that.  That was a real bitch of a process, let me tell you.

What you don't know, until you lose someone you really love, is the extent to which you can miss them.  It's unfathomable.  It's consistent.  It sometimes takes over your whole being.  It becomes an extra body part, in that you always carry it with you, no matter where you go or what you do.  You forget what it was like to NOT miss them.

So, anyway.  Just some things that have been floating around in my brain lately.  Thanks for hanging out with me.  Have a great day!

The Widow's Lament

I'm gonna bitch for a minute, about some random shit that's been on my mind ("it's my blog and I can do what I want," if you will).  

People say truly comforting, supportive things when you've lost a loved one.  They come out of the woodwork to let you know that you are not alone in your grief, that they are thinking of you and praying for you.  Sympathy cards arrive in the mail, with powerful messages of love.  In your time of need, friends and family come to your aid, sit by your side, and just hold your hand or squeeze your shoulder.  They step in and take care of your child, without being asked, so you can fall apart for a minute or two.

Then, there are those people who say really shitty, insensitive things.  Like what, you ask?

"What did his body look like after he passed?"

I don't know.  You're seriously disturbed.

"Do you think he knew what was happening when he was dying?"

I hope not.  I'd imagine that would really suck.

"Oh, you weren't with him when he died?  That must be hard for you to live with."

Yeah, it pretty much consumes my thoughts every day.  Thanks.

"How much life insurance money will you get?"

None.  Why?  Did he owe you money?

"I don't know if cancer is what really killed him."

I'm pretty sure it was, since he had it all over his body and brain, and cancer's main goal is to kill you.

"He's in a much better place now."

How do you know?  Have you been?

"He'll always be watching over you."

I hope he's not while I'm pooping.

(I know a lot of people think that last one is comforting, but to me, it's creepy.  I don't want to be watched 24/7.  I hope Heaven is not just a big viewing room for "Big Brother: Earth Edition.")

And finally, there are those people who don't know what to say, so they just ignore you.  They won't look you in the face, they'll pass by you in the halls without acknowledgement, they'll whisper about you to another person then stop abruptly when you walk into the room.  That's the worst.  Does losing my partner mean that I'm branded with a scarlet W for the rest of my life?  I don't look good in red.

When someone you know is losing, or has lost, a loved one, the simplest thing to say is generally the best: "I'm sorry and I'm here for you."  That's it.  Trust me, that's all anyone needs to hear.  If you don't hear back from them for a few days, or even a couple weeks, it's okay.  When your husband, or anyone else you love, dies, it's pretty easy to lose track of time.  There are days when the only thing you can focus on is getting out of bed and feeding yourself, and remembering to respond to an email, or phone call, or Facebook message, or text, just isn't priority # 1.  But eventually, you'll catch up.

And you don't have to mope around as a grieving widow, forever in black (with that big scarlet W).  It's perfectly acceptable, wonderful even, to move forward with your life in whatever time frame suits you.  Missing someone doesn't mean you shut down.  Missing them means that you keep living, while a little bit of you, a tiny piece really, will always be looking for their face in a crowd or subconsciously expecting a phone call from them.

The thing about life is, no one gets out alive.  So live it.  And enjoy it while you got it.