Seven Months - My Reflections

There are many days when I can be thankful for what I once had and thankful for what I still have and determined to make the best of what I have.  This isn't one of those days.  Tomorrow at 9:15am, Rudy will have been gone for 7 months.

Most days this month, I have done what needs to be done.  I've managed to deal with Thanksgiving without resentment.  Now, I seem to have hit a bit of a slump in my determination to stay positive.  I haven't completely lost it, I really am determined, but I'm struggling.  I've been easy on myself for not always being a shining example of how to get on with life.  I know occasional slumps are to be expected.  Holidays probably make slumps worse.  I'm at peace with my slump.  That's sounds a bit funny.

I worked today on a little project with photos of Rudy.  I thought I was up for it and actually am quite pleased with what I accomplished.  When it was done, I went for a walk with the dogs, still thinking I was just fine.  My mind wandered.  I wasn't braced or careful with my thoughts. Pandora's grief box opened just enough to knock me for a loop.

Grief isn't just emotional.  It's physical.  These last 7 months, make that 13 months, have shown me the physical side.  It's probably different for others, but when a wave of grief hits me, first I can't breathe.  It feels like someone large is sitting on my chest. My lungs seem to stop working and my airway narrows all the way up through my neck. I feel it slowly narrowing. Next, I feel a pain in my chest.  I feel sure it's a piece of my heart chipping off.  Then come the tears.  Sometimes one.  Sometimes many. The number of tears don't always equal the amount of sadness.  There have been some mighty bad moments with no tears at all. When it's over, it takes about ten minutes or so to breathe normally and for my heart to feel right again.  It's not imagined.  These are actual physical symptoms.  If I were hooked up to monitors, they'd set off warning alarms, for sure.  I wonder if a grief wave is similar to incidents where people have panic attacks that mimic heart attacks.

Speaking of physical, there's one other thing that has been bothering me and I don't see anyone mentioning it in grief discussions.  I miss hugs.  Rudy was a champion hugger.  You can only hug a friend or relative for so long before it becomes awkward.  If you have kids or grandkids, you can hug them longer - long enough to keep you from going nutty.  If you don't have a long-hug candidate nearby, then it's a slow form of torture.  I remember a study about baby monkeys kept from motherly contact.  They all started rocking themselves as they slowly went crazy.  Am I on the fast track to crazy?  I'm rocking more these days.  Next thing you know, I may start grabbing strangers.  You'll hear them frantically screaming calling out, "She's hugging me and won't let go!"  If you have someone nearby who gives good hugs, don't take them or their hugs for granted.  By the way, my longing for a good hug does not translate to me being desperate to start dating.  I'm still damaged goods and don't plan to latch onto somebody who might "save me". Anyway, I think it must take a special kind of person to be willing to take on a widow.

There are several things that seem to be making a positive difference in my life -

Most importantly, I am surrounded by people who love me.  I have a wonderful family - both my side and Rudy's side.  I hate describing Rudy's side of the family that way, because they are MY family, too.  I have many, many friends who watch out for me.  I even have a few people new to my life who have taken me on and become important.  Our connection to people is what life is all about, right?  In the end, it's what really matters.

My 6 dogs and 2 cats have been both a curse and a blessing.  Mostly a blessing.  They run me ragged.  They cost a fortune.  They keep me from running off to  exotic locations.  Several of them have issues.  But they love me and I love them.  They are my family.  They make me laugh.  They love to snuggle.  They keep me from going off the deep end.

Getting outside is my equivalent of getting on a life raft.  I go on daily walks and I've been hiking, as well.  My dad and/or my dogs are my daily walking partners.  We walk around our property - it's about a mile all the way around.  It's always beautiful.  We have a pond, woods, pastures, and plenty of wildlife to watch.  It never gets old. As much as I dream of simplifying and downsizing, I love this place.  My friend, Susan, is my hiking partner.  We've been mostly going to state parks.  We prefer ones with water features - creeks, rivers, falls.  They'll all been just challenging enough to keep us focused.  Best of all, they've all been beautiful and sooooo worth the challenges.

An old book has become my new friend.  The book is Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnach.  At one time, Oprah was promoting it as the best thing since sliced bread.  I bought it when it first came out (1995-ish) with the best of intentions, but it sat unread for years til I finally donated it to Goodwill.  A few months after Rudy died, I bought a used copy from Goodwill. Maybe the one I donated came full circle!  This time I started reading it daily (it's a daily journal).  Soon, I started underlining and writing notes in the margins.  Some days the message is nice, but nothing major.  Many days, the message seems to be written just for me.  This book has helped me along.  It's not a book for widows.  It's a book I'd recommend to any woman.

Even with all the positives in my life, lately this slump has been getting the best of me too often.  Maybe I will go through this struggling phase because it needs to be gone through.  Maybe I can't skip over or minimize any parts of the grief process without them eventually popping up.  Maybe I need to let my guard down for awhile.  Or maybe I'm having a really bad day and tomorrow I'll wake up with some newfound determination.  One thing is certain, I'm no longer certain of anything.  Ha! I think I'm channeling Yogi Berra.


Decorating for the holidays has been a joke. I pulled things out and put them back away, over and over.  I finally gave up.  I stubbornly thought for a bit that I could be OK with putting a few Christmas-y things on my dining table.  I'm packing those back up tomorrow.  I've decided to be tongue in cheek about it and put out a bowl of lemons.  When I go to the grocery store, if my attitude has improved, I might also get some oranges and cinnamon sticks to add to the bowl.  We'll see.  I doubt it.  I'm feeling a bit mad at life right now, so lemons seem fitting.  Sour grapes seem fitting as well, but they aren't very attractive and would probably smell bad, too.

I'll end on a nicer note with a photo of Rudy.  This is one of my favorite photos of him.   I haven't actually ranked his photos, but I'd be willing to bet if I did, this would be in the top five. Possibly THE favorite. The photo is old and faded.  It was taken in 1978.  He's a mess.  He's just come from a fishing trip and he's holding his catch.  I've never been a fan of fishing and I've definitely never been a fan of proudly holding up an animal you've just killed.  (Full disclaimer:  I eat meat and am completely aware that I am a big hypocrite.)   Despite all this, I love this photo.  This is the guy I fell in love with.  He's so happy!  Even filthy and holding a dead fish, he could charm me.  This is the guy who is causing me to lose my mind right now.

The Ring In-Between

There's a part of being a new widow that had never occurred to me before.  It's a state of in-between.  Neither here nor there.  Afterloss Purgatory.

The first time the in-between-ness hit me was when filling out some paperwork and having to check a box for either single or married.  This was a test I hadn't studied for.  I really didn't know what to check and didn't like that I had to declare myself one way or the other.  Neither choice seemed correct.  I still feel married, but officially, I guess I'm not and that stupid form was making me say I was something I wasn't ready for.  There should be a box for UNCERTAIN or OTHER or IN-BETWEEN.

Strange.  I guess I'm single, but it feels wrong to check that box. Single sounds flirty, footloose, and fancy free.  It sounds like I should be out on the town on Saturday nights.  I'm not single like that.  But then, if there is no living spouse, I can't actually claim to be married either, can I?  I'm something in-between.

It occurred to me there might be an unofficial symbol of being in-between. If a widow still wears her wedding ring, she is somewhere in-between.

How the ring ties in to the in-between life of a widow came to me after reading a new post from a widow asking advice about when to take off her wedding ring.  How long to wear the wedding ring tends to be a hot topic on many widow blogs.   I come across new discussions on the topic at least every week or two.  The accepted answer from "professionals" is to take it off when you feel ready.  Some widows participating in these discussions can be VERY opinionated and passionate on the topic.  When do you take it off?  Do you ever take it off?  Many widows (especially those in over 50) vow to never take it off and a few of them word their opinion so strongly that you get the impression that anyone who does less obviously didn't love their husbands.  They don't come out and say that, but their message is annoyingly clear.

FYI - This is NOT my ring.

Is taking off the wedding ring a betrayal?  I read on one post, "Your wedding ring is a symbol of your love and commitment to your spouse."  Well, damn.  That sentence alone would pressure a widow to keep her rings on forever if she cared anything at all for her husband.  Sadly, there's an incredible amount of fear and guilt associated with taking off the wedding ring.  It's a symbol to some of dismissing your deceased spouse and is almost like a divorce.  Let that thought sink in.  Removing the ring is like divorcing the beloved wife or husband who died.  That's a really ugly thought, isn't it?  But, there it is.  I hope when I take my ring off, which I WILL do at some point, that no one thinks I'm over Rudy.  You never get over someone you loved.  I don't think any of the people who love me will feel that way.  I guess, if someone I know thinks that, then clearly, they don't know me very well.

Taking the ring off is also seen by some as announcing you're ready to be on the market. I don't like that thought, either. That's turning what should be a gradual transition from A to Z into one abrupt change, skipping all the baby steps in-between.   There are often many stages and emotions between Grieving Widow and Dating Widow.  Removing the ring might be one of those in-between stages.

I have decided to associate removing the ring with something less weighty.  Maybe it will mean I've decided to come to terms with the fact that I'm on my own and brave enough to handle it.  I've been trying to do that all along.  Some people think I've done it pretty well already.  I try to present a good on-my-own front and am proud of how I've handled myself, but, truthfully, I'm not there yet.
Removing the ring shouldn't be seen as a coming out party for widows.  No symbol is needed for that transition.  It's likely something that just happens when the time is right.   I have a feeling most widows don't enter that stage on their own. Most are probably coaxed out by concerned friends or wooed out by a very charming suitor.  If George Clooney came to my door, said he and Amal had realized they weren't right for each other and after reading my blogs, he knew we were soul mates, I feel pretty sure I'd start dating.  In fact, I'd probably be willing to marry him on the spot.  My blog posts would get way more interesting after that!

There are reasons other than devotion that widows wear their wedding rings for so long. One is the safety factor.  There's a safety in being thought to be married.  A single woman is vulnerable. That makes me furious, but most women know it's the truth.  A married woman gets treated a little differently.  Usually.  More importantly, strangers assume there is someone at home waiting for a woman wearing a ring.  A single woman can seem like an easy target. When I'm out in public, I always imply I'm married to strangers.  When I think of the safety issue, I'm tempted to wear my ring forever.

I suspect there's another, more controversial reason a few widows plan to never remove their ring. It may be less about the love of their deceased husband and more about the fact that they are just fine with their freedom.  They don't want a man in their life to mess things up.  I imagine if you've had a domineering husband or a high-maintenance husband, even if he was fairly lovable, it would be easier to only have to answer to yourself.  If you suspect that is the reason a widow you know continues to wear their ring, I don't advise pointing it out. Few widows would own up to it, especially if they've built up a nice facade of, "I loved my husband so much I could never in a million years move on."  A ticked off widow can go off on you like no other!  :-D

The very idea that there is so much drama and guilt and judgment associated with a widow removing their ring makes me want to take mine off right now in protest.  A ring doesn't tell my story.  Things like rings should not be given so much power.

Despite my annoyance, I am reluctant to take mine off right now.  I suppose I could plan to do it on some future special date, like New Year's or the anniversary of Rudy's death, but that would give the removal too much importance and could turn the whole process into a major grief meltdown, which I fear more than removing the ring.

Maybe one day - one random, insignificant day - I'll just take it off, put it away, say nothing about it and go on my way.  I would try not to make the removal mean anything at all.  It would probably be sensible to do it sooner rather than later.  I imagine the longer I wait, the harder it will be.

OR, I could slowly wean myself from it by wearing it some days and not others.  That wouldn't seem so scary.  Taking it off for a day or so knowing I would be putting it back on wouldn't feel so dramatic. The fact is, I'm not ready to remove my ring yet.  Why am I reluctant? What's holding me back? Honestly, I have no idea.  I can't figure it out at all.  I've become a person I don't know very well.

On a positive note, at least we no longer honor the more obvious tradition of widows dressing in black.  "Widows were expected to wear special clothes to indicate that they were in mourning for up to four years after the death, although a widow could choose to wear such attire for the rest of her life. To change the costume earlier was considered disrespectful to the deceased and, if the widow was still young and attractive, suggestive of potential sexual promiscuity."

Interestingly, that tradition gave widows a chance to gradually transition. "Those subject to the rules were slowly allowed to re-introduce conventional clothing at specific time periods; such stages were known by such terms as "full mourning", "half mourning", and similar descriptions. For half mourning, muted colours such as lilac, grey and lavender could be introduced."  Source    I find it interesting that they had  an in-between stage --- half-mourning!

Scarlett O'Hara certainly isn't a role model for widows who actually loved their husbands, but you have to admit she got around the rules of the day.  She even managed to dump her ring without a second thought by donating it to the cause. But then, Scarlett never loved Mr. Kennedy, did she?  For widows who had real love, it's so much more complicated.

The Grief Box

Sometimes I feel like the lack of emotion I show publicly is puzzling to others.  To tell the truth, I didn't understand it myself at first.   It's probably not so surprising to other widows.   I think I've come up with a way to explain it.  I call it The Grief Box.

All of my grief and touching memories and meaningful emotions associated with Rudy are kept in The Grief Box.  The box is something I carry with me everywhere I go. 

When I go out, I guard that box carefully. It's like Pandora's Box.  I don't want it opened when I'm out and vulnerable. The box can be accessed from all sides and it's not all that strong.  Sometimes I'm guarding one side of the box and something sneaks up and pulls a memory out from the other side.  Every time the box is compromised, the pain is raw.  It takes time to recover from a surprise leak.  

As time goes on, I'm getting better at guarding the box.  The box is thicker and tougher and harder to puncture by surprise, but it's not at all invincible.  If I know something is coming up, I can brace for it.  When I'm braced, The Grief Box is difficult to sneak open.  On the other hand, when I'm home and by myself, the box is fairly unprotected.  Memories and emotions spring forth rather freely.  I don't push those back so much.  I am able to feel what I feel without need for explanation and without making anyone else sad or uncomfortable.  All my friends and family would be more than happy to be a shoulder for me to cry on, but I do better sorting through these emotions on my own. 

Widows whose husbands die suddenly and unexpectedly are usually much more emotionally demonstrative (or they are in a complete state of shock).  They haven't had time to build their grief box. 

Widows whose husbands die after a long illness usually appear to be holding up well.  

For me, I began building my grief box the day the doctor said "Stage IV,  Not Curable".  That was pretty much the worst day of my life.  It was even harder than the day Rudy died because I didn't expect that diagnosis.  I had no protection. I felt like I turned to stone, but looking back, I'm sure I was in shock. By the time he died, I was a tougher, different person.  I had even reached the point where I was thankful for Rudy's release from suffering.  

I've been a widow for nearly six months now, but in some ways I think I've been widowed for a year.  The day of that diagnosis is the day I started losing him.  That was the day I began building my Grief Box.

Those of us who carry around a grief box are not able to be free and easy emotionally.  I have no idea how long it will take me to feel free and easy again.  I sometimes wonder if I ever will. Will I have to guard my grief box always?  I do talk about Rudy often and I hope one day memories of him will only bring smiles.  For now, I'm just one of those widows who is holding up well...  I'm holding up a Grief Box.  

I should end there.  That last bit would make a good ending.  Still, I feel compelled to let the people I love know that I really am doing well.  I'm functioning and figuring out how to get on.  I'm getting out there and finding ways to have fun. I am constantly looking for good things.  I find it's true, when you look for good, you will find it. Hiking is my newest thing.  I most enjoy being around friends I see often.  With them, I don't feel like the elephant in the room that everyone has to be careful around.  In other words, nobody needs to worry about me.  But, I want to make it perfectly clear... widows you meet who are holding up well are dealing with lots of pain whether you see it or not.

 This post was written after hearing a comment about how another widow was "holding up well" and I thought to myself that only another widow understands what it means to be holding up well.

Fall Sadness, Holidays, and a New Wardrobe

I'm loving the fall weather, but fall is bringing up some unpleasant memories.  These last 4+ months, I've worked hard to squash memories of Rudy being sick and instead, have tried to train my mind to switch to memories of happy times.  I'm having less success now and I suppose it's inevitable that the next few months will be pretty much a minefield.

I suppose I need to start reading lots of articles like this.

October is the month that Rudy first thought he had bronchitis.  He went to the doctor and had x-rays.  They found a tumor.  November was the grim diagnosis and the beginning of the merry-go-round of tests and chemo.  Every holiday has a memory of sickness.  Every holiday will also have a memory of happy times in past years.  Rudy loved the holidays.  Will I ever be able to love them again?  I'm so mad at myself for feeling this way.  I've been brilliant at controlling how I look at things and now I'm losing my control.  I'm absolutely dreading Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I swear, if it weren't for all my pet craziness, I'd leave town.  I want to run away.

Seriously, I do NOT want to ruin gatherings
for everyone by acting like this!
This little crying girl cracks me up.
See how I'm able to have fun even while being pitiful?

Also, in the fall are two family reunions.  Rudy loved those even more than holidays.  I don't know why, but I think I'll be able to handle those a little better than the holidays.  I keep wondering why and just have no idea.  They'll be sad, but I don't feel like I could have a meltdown.  Just the thought of Thanksgiving and Christmas makes me feel panicky.  There is a tiny little doubt in my head about these reunions.  What if I just think I'll be OK, but get there and lose it?  Darn it.  Where has my mind control gone?  I'm doing exactly the things I know not to do.

Another weird thing I'm having trouble with is my wardrobe.  So many of my fall clothes have memories attached to them.  How shallow is that?  I wore this sweater when Rudy was told he was going to die and there was nothing they could do.  I might as well toss that sweater if I can't get myself under control.  I wore that outfit to his first meeting at CTCA.  Every fall and winter thing I have is associated with chemo and doctor visits and scans and emergency room visits.

I've been buying new clothes like crazy.  You may think I've suddenly become a style maven, but there's a bit more to it than that.  I'm trying to make the buying process fun and I'm trying to find things I can love wearing, but it's not exactly a happy fashion transformation.  It's a necessary fashion transformation.  Last year's clothes make me cry.

I really believe that after I get through the rest of this year I might be able to turn a corner and focus on joy again.  I'd like to turn a corner before then.  I'd like to figure out how I can be present at holiday gatherings without ruining them for everyone else.  I can't believe it's only September and I'm worried about that.  That's stupid!  I don't like doing stupid things.  I need to snap out of it, right?

Here's something that occurs to me, showing that karma's a bitch.  I can remember seeing widows throughout my life who suddenly spruced themselves up and/or suddenly began redecorating or moving to a new home or going on trips or doing happy things.  All sorts of things occurred to me - they must not have loved their husbands all that much, they must have inherited a bunch of money, they must be thinking about getting another man... the judgmental list goes on. (I will say that I was more judgmental about it when I was young and had gotten a bit more understanding in the last few years.  Still I racked up a good bit of widow-judgment karma in my twenties, thirties, and forties.) Well, here I am, right smack in the middle of the things I judged.  I get it now.  I understand ALL the reasons now.  Lesson learned.  Don't judge me. I personally care very little if you do, but for your own sake, just remember... karma's a bitch.

Four Months - My Reflections

I've been doing a lot of reflecting the last few days.   I've been thinking about two things - how much I miss Rudy and what the heck am I supposed to do without him.

I believe in Heaven.  I believe Rudy is there and that he's happy.  I believe he is often with me and others he loves.  There's still a connection. I believe at the end of my life, I'll join him on the other side.

I think there's a possibility that before we are born we may get to choose a few things about our life in order to put ourselves in situations where we will do what we're supposed to do and learn what we're supposed to learn.  I can even imagine Rudy being given a choice - he could have chosen a longer, safer, more sedate life.  Instead, he chose a slightly shorter life lived doing exactly as he pleased, saying exactly what he wanted to say and having a heck of a time all along the way.  That sounds like a pretty great way to live, actually.  It can ruffle feathers, but it certainly simplifies things more than beating around the bush or avoiding talking about things.  He had great health with hardly any trouble at all up until 7 months before he died.  I can see him choosing that, too.  So, he had a good life.  62 years isn't long enough, but it's more than many get.

1978 - this was my first trip to his family's yearly reunion.
It was the summer before we were married.

If I truly believe Rudy is happy in Heaven and that Rudy had a good life on earth, then it follows that much of my grief is because I'm feeling awfully sorry for myself.  That's true.  What do I do without him?  When I pictured my future, I pictured it with him.  We would grow old together.  We might even "check out" together in a car crash. He was a very talented driver and had incredible reflexes, but he went way too fast for me.  I could even picture us going through the "after-death tunnel" together. As we would be pulled towards the bright light,  I would be fussing at him all the way, saying, "I TOLD YOU your driving was going to kill us!"

It ALSO follows that I am still here because my journey is not over.  The question is, what is my journey?  I have been reading lots of online sites for widows.  The posts are often inspiring and the comments by other widows are often enlightening and/or thought-provoking.  If I thought about it long enough, I could probably come up with 5 or 6 highly generalized categories for how  widows deal with their grief.  One category would be for widows who desperately want to find another person to love.  I don't begrudge them, but I'm definitely not in that category. I've never been the type of person to get bored alone. I can have just as much fun by myself as with someone.  Another category would be for widows who pretty much give up.  Just today I read a great post inspiring widows to stop picturing themselves as one day old and alone (I have to admit that scenario scares the heck out of me) and start visualizing themselves living a full and happy life.  Then I read the comments and there were MANY from widows who said they were too old to start a new life.  The surprising part?  They were in their 50's or 60's.  Not a single one of those comments were from ladies over 65.  If those widows were in front of me, I'd be tempted to shake them til their teeth rattled.  So clearly, that's not my category.

So what widow category is mine?  I'm pretty sure I'm in the category of widows who despite being devastated, pick themselves up and figure out how to spend whatever time is left on earth being a good person, living fully, and seeking joy.  I have no idea how that's going to look.  I can't imagine what the future may bring.  I can't imagine the path I might take, but you can bet I'm going to keep moving.  I'm going to stay connected to family and friends and life.  I'm going to make new friends along the way.  I'm going to be open to possibilities... new hobbies, new things to learn, maybe I'll even live on a lake or on the coast one day.  When my ride is over and Rudy meets me on the other side, he'll be grinning and he'll say, "Well done".

That all sounds very brave, doesn't it?  Here's a little widow truth...  I won't be able to go out bravely into the world with that attitude every day.  Today, for instance, I'm overwhelmed with memories of Rudy. It's been exactly four months since he died (May 7th at 9:15 am).  I'm going to stick around the house and give in to the grief.   I really miss him. And no, I don't want to be rescued.  I've had offers to go out today.  I just want need to stay home and be free to feel sad.

This is the May 7th heading in the Simple Abundance journal by Sarah Ban Breathnach. The title is amazing, but so is the quote.  The last day or two before Rudy died, he kept trying to get up, saying "THEY told me I could go home."  I thought he was confused.  He wasn't.  I didn't ask the right question.  I didn't ask who THEY were.  I'll always regret that.

Lost in Translation

Once again, I've been interacting with other widows online.  It seems to be exactly the therapy I need.  The posts can be inspiring, but I seem to find the real jewels in the comments.

Yesterday, I read a post advising widows to not wait to go out and do the things they are passionate about.  It was very upbeat and positive and though I tried to feel upbeat and inspired while reading it, I just didn't.

Then I scrolled the comments.  Here are three that caught my attention -

What if you are lost in translation... I don't know what I'm passionate about anymore... How do you rediscover yourself after a loss?

I've been trying to do the same things my husband and I both enjoyed, but I find I no longer enjoy with his absence. I too am stuck in limbo. I have a few goals but they're so sketchy. 

I needed this tonight...have recently felt that there's "something more" I should be doing...almost like when you forget something really important...you know you're supposed to do something, just can't put your finger on it...

Oh my.  I know just how these ladies are feeling.  I've lost my mojo.  I can't seem to get fired up about things I used to enjoy.  I can't get fired up about what the future may hold.  The fire is out. The embers aren't even warm.  I'm going thru the motions and that's about the best I can do.

Today, I gave myself a pep talk about this whole lost in translation feeling.

I need to remember that this grief is fresh. Rudy has been gone less than 4 months.  It's been an incredibly long 4 months, but still doesn't feel like he's truly gone.  I hear his voice in my head.  I see him coming around the corner.  I think I hear him coming home.  He's in my head every time I do something we'd typically discuss. I can almost feel his fabulous hugs.

I need to give myself a break and not worry that I feel so lost.  I'll be lost for as long as it takes, but I won't be still.  I'll keep going through the motions - seeing friends, decorating my house, playing with the dogs, going places and telling everyone, "I'm OK".  One of these days I might actually feel something other than grief.

I have a feeling I'll be writing many grief-related posts as I go through this process. For some reason, I am able to write how I'm feeling, even though I can't seem to talk about it much.  That doesn't make sense, but I can't get fired up about making sense either. :-P

Just a Shell?

I have been reading some blogs by other widows.  One (The Cat Widow) is from a rather young (just 30 years old) widow.  When I find one of these blogs, I like to find the posts they wrote when they were as far along into widowhood as I am.  For me, it was 3 months yesterday.  I was busy most of the day, but the times I was on my own, I had a harder time than expected.  At one point I was in my car crying and really missing Rudy and then, dammit, I hit a racoon.  I'm such an animal lover, so that was pretty horrific.  Instead of crying worse, I shut down.  Just went numb.  I drove the rest of the way home in a state of nothingness.

Today, I read a post from The Cat Widow that made me think about that numbness.  First, she explained the difference between grief and mourning.  I had never heard there was a difference.

Grief is an internal process. Lots of emotions come into play and the process is different for everyone. Mourning, however, is grief that is expressed to the world. Mourning is how a person works through her grief by outwardly expressing the things she is feeling inside.

I have plenty of grief, but I avoid mourning.  I work really hard to hide my sadness.  I work hard to be cheerful and make sure others are comfortable around me.  I don't want to cry in front of other people.  I prefer to be alone with my sadness.

Then, her post went on to say this -

In grad school and during my time doing a graduate internship with hospice, I was taught that grief without mourning is frightening and destructive. Grief without mourning is how people become shells of their former selves. How people succumb to demons and emotional pain. How people get stuck and cannot move forward. 

 That got my attention, especially because of the part about becoming shells of their former selves.  That struck home because I often feel like a shell.  All empty inside.  I shut down often - just like I did with the racoon.  The shutting down is scarier than feeling sad.  I can't even explain it.

This is not my drawing, but it
sort of fit how I feel sometimes.

If I believe the grad school logic in her post, then it would be prudent for me to try to open up more.  Unfortunately, I don't think I can do that.  I don't even want to do that.  You won't see me breaking down in front of others, but maybe my writing can count as my mourning.  I can write some of what I'm feeling.

I'm not going to worry too much about being a shell. I don't think I'll get stuck in this state.  I know I'm not going to succumb to demons or not be able to move forward.  I don't know how long it will take to get a little real life back in me, but I feel sure it'll happen.  I'll just continue faking it 'til I make it. Sometimes faking it feels real.

Anyway, maybe it's best to look at this shell thing another way - a shell is a protective covering.  I'll use it as long as I need it.

By the way, grief is different for everyone.  Even though I am not in total agreement with the point of view in The Cat Widow's aforementioned post, I really do like her blog.  Her posts could be really helpful to other widows.  Her husband committed suicide due to ongoing pain.  I think that adds a whole extra level of pain to the grieving process.  She's dealing with it gracefully.

Lost Keys

No.  I didn't misplace my car or house keys.  I came across this quote on Facebook and it sent my mind into a swirl of contemplation -

My first thought was that I had lost these three "keys".  Then I thought about it some more and realized I am getting by with temporary keys.

My something to do is not something of great purpose, but I stay pretty busy.  I have grass to cut and dogs to take care of.  I have bills to pay and so many things to figure out.  Most importantly, I make time for fun with friends and family. I have very little time to get bored or dwell too long on things I'm sad about.

My someone to love is not technically with me, but he feels close by.  I usually knew what he would say about most anything, so I can still have a complete conversation with him.  Plus, it feels like he's with me, watching over me and helping me find my way.  It's not the same as having him by my side, but "it is what it is".  I use that phrase a lot.  It reminds me to stop thinking I'll wake up to find this whole thing has been a bad dream.  Meanwhile, even though I may not have my special someone with me, I have a huge group of friends and family to love.

I haven't figured out my something to hope for yet.  I can't for the life of me picture what I want to do with the rest of my life or how it might look down the road.  When I think of the future, it's just a big blank.  On the other hand, I think one day I'll figure it out.  In other words, my something to hope for is that one day I'll come up with something to hope for.

See?  I no longer have the keys I have used for so long, but I do have some temporary keys. Eventually, I'll replace these keys with better keys.  Meanwhile, I'm going to be happy with the keys I have.

Seriously, my life kind of stinks right now without Rudy, but there is still so much in this world to be grateful for.  In order to survive, I have to focus on that.  It's not always easy, but I know with all my being that it's what I need to do. Lost keys can turn up in the darnedest places.

A Lesson From Teddy

I've been feeling pretty low lately.  Tomorrow will be 2 months since Rudy's death.  It's been a long, hard 2 months.  I really don't like that I'm marking the anniversary of his death.  Id rather mark happier anniversaries, but I can't seem to help myself.

Another thing I'm dealing with is the failing health of my dog, Teddy.  He's the young one who had what we thought was mange, then it appeared his skin troubles were solved through a limited ingredient diet.  I guess it wasn't solved. Some of his "hot spots" seem to be coming back as you can see in the photo.

I'll try to get some better photos soon.

A few months back, we thought Teddy had injured a leg or hip, but we didn't think it was too serious.  He was walking a little odd, but didn't seem to be in pain.  In the last couple of weeks, his walking got worse. He wobbles and seems unsure of his footing.  Sometime he stumbles and tips over.  I took him to the vet today.  She feels sure it's something neurological, most likely a brain tumor.  There's also a chance it could be some tick born illness or something similar.  Before we give up, she wants to try him on steroids and antibiotics.

I am hurting over this on so many levels.  It would be really hard to watch him go down.  I'm still trying desperately to erase the memories of Rudy's last weeks.  I'm  focusing on good memories so hopefully those the images will be the ones that first come into my head.  Watching Teddy go down would be too much of a reminder of those painful days with Rudy.

Teddy is such a sweetheart.  He's a very trusting, happy dog.  Ok.  Enough of that.  It's not helping.   Let me get to the better part of this post.

This afternoon, I went for a walk with the dogs.  Teddy went along.  He looks a bit spastic when he walks, but that didn't stop him.  On our walk, he was dashing around here and there and even did a good bit of running.  He was wagging his tail and looking quite happy despite his issues.  There's a lesson there.

I guess I'll go on the journey with him and we'll BOTH try to be as happy as possible.  He may have a brain tumor and go down rapidly.  He may have something that is able to be contained with pills.  I know better than to attempt any predictions.  Teddy and I will do the best we can with what each day brings.  And maybe we'll go for more walks.

This quote (and this post) is more positive than I'm truly feeling, but I'm working on it.

UPDATE: Teddy doesn't have a tumor or anything so serious.  It all seems to be allergy related (something outside).  He's now on allergy medication and doing great!

Messages on the Radio

It's amazing how often a song comes on the radio that seems like a direct message.  It seems to happen to me mostly in the car. Today, as I was doing a number of errands, my mind was wandering all over the place, mostly missing Rudy and feeling real sorry for myself.  In the midst of it all a song came on I'd never heard before, with words I feel sure I was meant to hear.

There were several parts of the song that I found especially meaningful -

...I don't take my life for granted

I'm gonna hold on tight

To what I've been handed

...I'll try not to complain

About the things I have lost

Cause when you have something great

That just means there's a greater loss

...So when you look at yourself

Tell me who do you see

Is it the person you've been

Or the person you're gonna be

...Why don't you hold on tight

To what you've been handed

Cause you just don't know how long you will have it.

That song was big nudge to me to stop thinking the way I have been thinking lately.  I seem to be stuck in a dark place where I honestly can't picture what my life could possibly be like without Rudy.  The song didn't take that feeling away, but it at least nudged me to try.

Once the song was over, I immediately questioned myself.  Was this song really a sign?  Or am I just so crazy that I'm seeing signs everywhere?  Maybe I'm just grasping for something.  If that's the case, then the very next song that played knocked me right over the edge.

There's a John Prine song that always gave Rudy a big chuckle.  He always said he wanted it played at his funeral.  We actually considered doing just that and most people who knew Rudy well would have gotten a kick out of it, but it wouldn't exactly have been in good taste.  It's on one of Rudy's CDs, but hearing it on the radio is a pretty rare occurrence.  It was the very next song that played.  OMG.

So.... do I believe in signs?  Yes I do.  Call me crazy.  I don't care.  Rudy continues to make me laugh.   Between tears.