I attended a neighborhood Christmas gathering last night where I met some new people. Just when you think you've got this widowhood thing down, something pops up to remind you of how much adjustment you've gone through and continue to go through.
We all talk about our past. It is part of the give and take of social conversation. But when over half of your life was spent with a person who is now dead, social conversation becomes a bit trickier. With people I am just meeting who know nothing about me, there is always a point in the conversation where I want to jump in and say, "oh, we went to Lake Tahoe every year", or "my husband was an engineer". Or better yet, an opportunity to answer a direct question like, "how long have you lived here?" If I say, "I've lived in the neighborhood for 10 years", it smacks of an untruth. They don't know it, but I do and it feels wrong. All of these terms give an incomplete picture, or a false picture. They are true, but not currently true. I've experiemented alot with my social conversation in reference to my husband. None of it sounds right and I usually leave a conversation feeling like I've lied. Like I am dishonoring my husband, my past, our relationship and my current life.
This dilemma struck early on in widowhood and it was odd. Do you have any idea how often you reference your spouse or significant other? Try counting some day. You'll be shocked. They are so intertwined in your life that you can't help but talk about them without even really knowing you're doing it. So we widows are in a unique position. To not talk about our past inclusive of our late spouses would dishonor them and the relationship we had. To reference "we" or "my husband" doesn't tell the whole story and feels a bit like lying.
The solution given to me earlier this year by another young widow seemed perfect. She said, try using "late husband". Problem solved right? Until you try to use it. First you have to be mentally and emotionally ready to say those words out loud. Not as easy as it might seem. So you practice to your dog and yourself before rolling it out to the general public. Then, when you do say it outloud in public, there is always an after affect. 2-1/2 years into this I sometimes forget the impact this will have on others. And believe me, there is always an impact. The look of shock, the sympathy gesture, or the questions thrown at you respectfully or disrespectively pumped at you a million a minute, or better yet all the positive energy in the room getting sucked out in one big wooshing sound leaving everyone looking for the exit. And then there are those total strangers who want to hear all the details and won't let you off the hook until you muster up the wherewithal and tell them you'd rather not talk about it. After all that, you then have to figure out how to pull yourself together and get on with your day or evening like it was no big deal. So no suprise that after experimenting with "late husband" I stopped using it.
But after last night, after staying quiet or saying "we" one too many times, I have a new resolution. I will become comfortable saying, "my late husband". And I will use it whenever it's called for. Consequences by damned. It's my truth.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
What Life Am I Living?
It occurred to me today that I am living the life I have but not the life I want. This may seem like an obvious situation for someone in my shoes. But the problem is that for the first time in my life I have no goals, no purpose and no dreams. I am not used to feeling this way. I don't really recognize the life I am living now. Even at my low points as a kid, I had dreams of living life a certain way and of sharing it with someone special. Over the years, I have always had some purpose pushing me on, some dream in the background. It could have been big or small, but it was there. Now there is really nothing there. Even though I have a life I don't want, I don't know what the life is that I do want. There is nothing inside that pushes me along as it was before. No burning desire for anything like before. Some days it seems everyone in the world but me is occupied with and charging forth with a sense of purpose, making their own dreams happen and trying to live a fulfilling life.
Lately, I find myself wanting to talk with people who have had worse circumstances than I. People who have overcome. People who have managed to build a life worth living regardless. People who lead a joyful life, and have a thankful heart no matter what has happened to them. I want to know how they do it. Not necessarily how they keep going (I think I've figured this one out) but how they continue to have an internal attitude and spirit that cares, that dreams, that finds meaning.
I recognize now that so much of my inspiration came from my relationship with my husband. One more thing to miss and be without. One more thing to do for myself - find my own inspiration.
Lately, I find myself wanting to talk with people who have had worse circumstances than I. People who have overcome. People who have managed to build a life worth living regardless. People who lead a joyful life, and have a thankful heart no matter what has happened to them. I want to know how they do it. Not necessarily how they keep going (I think I've figured this one out) but how they continue to have an internal attitude and spirit that cares, that dreams, that finds meaning.
I recognize now that so much of my inspiration came from my relationship with my husband. One more thing to miss and be without. One more thing to do for myself - find my own inspiration.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Widowhood - one way to describe it
Did you ever play blind man's bluff as a kid? You put a blind fold over your eyes, turn the lights off and everyone hides. You'd then try to feel your way to find someone to tag. Or maybe at a family picnic you played the relay race where you put a bat to your forehead, leaned over and touched the bat to the ground, ran around it a couple times, then stood up and tried to run in a straight line to hand-off to your race partner?
Both are really disorienting. Both take time for your body and mind to adjust. But you have to go before you're ready or else you'll lose the game. Try as hard as you might, when you're blindfolded you just can't help but bump into things or put your hands out to feel your way around. It's scary to take big steps because you might fall down or crash into something. And when you're in the relay race, you're dizzy but you run anyway. You know what you have to do. Run in a straight line. You tell yourself you can do it even though you know you'll be dizzy. But the second you start, your body is running in a different direction than your brain. You just can't get the two working together in that straight line. So sometimes you just had to fall down and lay there a second until the dizziness went away. Then you could get up and start running again. Usually by then the race was over and you lost. You lost because you spent too much time on the ground waiting to feel ready to get up and run again.
That's what widowhood is like. On the good days.
Both are really disorienting. Both take time for your body and mind to adjust. But you have to go before you're ready or else you'll lose the game. Try as hard as you might, when you're blindfolded you just can't help but bump into things or put your hands out to feel your way around. It's scary to take big steps because you might fall down or crash into something. And when you're in the relay race, you're dizzy but you run anyway. You know what you have to do. Run in a straight line. You tell yourself you can do it even though you know you'll be dizzy. But the second you start, your body is running in a different direction than your brain. You just can't get the two working together in that straight line. So sometimes you just had to fall down and lay there a second until the dizziness went away. Then you could get up and start running again. Usually by then the race was over and you lost. You lost because you spent too much time on the ground waiting to feel ready to get up and run again.
That's what widowhood is like. On the good days.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Mom was Christmas
My Mom loved Christmas. She had an enthusiasm and joy for Christmas that I haven't really encountered in anyone else I know. I can see her bright smile now as I picture her. She also loved winter and the snow. She's one of the only people I've ever known who was bummed out when it didn't snow enough. After she died, I lost most of my Christmas spirit. It's just not been the same without her. Growing up, she made sure we had gifts every Christmas. This was not an easy thing for her to do given our money situation but she made it happen every single year.
I remember opening all the presents and sitting in the middle of the room with all the wrapping paper around. The paper went into the trash bags but the bows always got saved. Our stockings were always full of a bag of candy she had bought and created especially for each of us. Mom wrote her list of everything she was going to buy for each of us. She had to hide the list because we'd always want to peek. She kept it in her purse and would take it out to review when we went shopping. She would always do one night of shopping on her own and on that night, she wouldn't come home until very late. I missed her on those nights even though I knew she was out buying fun things. She also kept the sizes for shirts, pants, underwear, slippers etc. for everyone in her address book. Her address book over the years got so worn that she kept a rubberband around it to keep the pages from falling out. She paid cash for everything which she kept in an old paycheck envelope. One of those with the clear plastic windows in the front. Everytime she took the envelope out of her purse to pay for something it made a crinkling noise when she opened it up.
We had the same decorations every year. They went the same places. Mom had her traditions and I don't think it ever occurred to us to move the Christmas decorations around. The nativity went in the old dry sink, the stockings tied to the stair case spindles, and the garland with bells draped through the wood spindles above the entry into the living room.
On Christmas Eve, we would pile into the car to go to church. Mom would always forget something and have to go back inside. That, each of us found out as we got older, was the time she put all the presents under the tree. It just so happened that Santa had always come while we were at church. We'd come home from church and run into the living room and see the stacks of presents and rip into them all at once, but only after Mom and Dad got settled into their spots. After all the presents were opened and the mess "organized", we would make popcorn, get to pick out a pop (having soda pop was a rare thing in our house) and Dad would put the Woody cartoon on the film projector. We'd watch it on a sheet he had put up on the wall. I can still hear the wap, wap, wap when the film ran out but kept going round and round until Dad turned it off. On Christmas day, after church, we'd travel to one of the relatives homes. We rotated houses every year. It was a day full of cousins, food, warmth, and those huge, hot, bright lights from Grandpa's video camera when he tried to shoot video of all of us. There was so much laughter that day. So much of it from my Mom. It made me happy to see her so happy. I can still hear Mom, and my Aunts and Uncle laughing up a storm. I never wanted to leave. I wanted it to be Christmas every day.
I think my Mom was happiest at Christmas. This time of year she is always on my mind. Her last Christmas was in 1996. She died the following February. She was so sick that last Christmas but still ate Mint Dazzler dessert and smiled for the camera. I think maybe she hung on partly because she wanted to experience Christmas. I'm so glad we were all together as a family that Christmas. It was the last time we were. The picture of all of us still hangs in my hallway. She's standing right in front of Jack. Maybe the two of them spend it together now. She probably tries to get him to go to church with her and he tells her only if she'll change a tradition and go biking with him on Christmas Day.
I remember opening all the presents and sitting in the middle of the room with all the wrapping paper around. The paper went into the trash bags but the bows always got saved. Our stockings were always full of a bag of candy she had bought and created especially for each of us. Mom wrote her list of everything she was going to buy for each of us. She had to hide the list because we'd always want to peek. She kept it in her purse and would take it out to review when we went shopping. She would always do one night of shopping on her own and on that night, she wouldn't come home until very late. I missed her on those nights even though I knew she was out buying fun things. She also kept the sizes for shirts, pants, underwear, slippers etc. for everyone in her address book. Her address book over the years got so worn that she kept a rubberband around it to keep the pages from falling out. She paid cash for everything which she kept in an old paycheck envelope. One of those with the clear plastic windows in the front. Everytime she took the envelope out of her purse to pay for something it made a crinkling noise when she opened it up.
We had the same decorations every year. They went the same places. Mom had her traditions and I don't think it ever occurred to us to move the Christmas decorations around. The nativity went in the old dry sink, the stockings tied to the stair case spindles, and the garland with bells draped through the wood spindles above the entry into the living room.
On Christmas Eve, we would pile into the car to go to church. Mom would always forget something and have to go back inside. That, each of us found out as we got older, was the time she put all the presents under the tree. It just so happened that Santa had always come while we were at church. We'd come home from church and run into the living room and see the stacks of presents and rip into them all at once, but only after Mom and Dad got settled into their spots. After all the presents were opened and the mess "organized", we would make popcorn, get to pick out a pop (having soda pop was a rare thing in our house) and Dad would put the Woody cartoon on the film projector. We'd watch it on a sheet he had put up on the wall. I can still hear the wap, wap, wap when the film ran out but kept going round and round until Dad turned it off. On Christmas day, after church, we'd travel to one of the relatives homes. We rotated houses every year. It was a day full of cousins, food, warmth, and those huge, hot, bright lights from Grandpa's video camera when he tried to shoot video of all of us. There was so much laughter that day. So much of it from my Mom. It made me happy to see her so happy. I can still hear Mom, and my Aunts and Uncle laughing up a storm. I never wanted to leave. I wanted it to be Christmas every day.
I think my Mom was happiest at Christmas. This time of year she is always on my mind. Her last Christmas was in 1996. She died the following February. She was so sick that last Christmas but still ate Mint Dazzler dessert and smiled for the camera. I think maybe she hung on partly because she wanted to experience Christmas. I'm so glad we were all together as a family that Christmas. It was the last time we were. The picture of all of us still hangs in my hallway. She's standing right in front of Jack. Maybe the two of them spend it together now. She probably tries to get him to go to church with her and he tells her only if she'll change a tradition and go biking with him on Christmas Day.
Thursday, December 7, 2006
Fat Lips and Drool
Why any of us goes to the dentist is beyond me. I guess we're all afraid if we don't our teeth will fall out and then what? Chances are by the time we're in our 70's we'll have fake ones anyway. For some it will be even sooner than that. Maybe we should just cut to the chase while we're young and we still have some money left in our pocket.
I'm just now coming off the novacaine. Trying to open my mouth wide enough to shove some soup into it. My wallet is considerably lighter even with 80/20 insurance coverage. There is always something insurance doesn't cover. So then what's the point of insurance I wonder? (this coming from somone who made a fine living off of that industry and may again in the near future). Not to mention that 20% of alot is alot. Don't get me wrong. I love my dentist. She's pretty much on the cutting edge of it all (which is one reason she's expensive). She and her staff are good at what they do and very friendly. But man, it seems there should be a better way than seating you upside down, shoving a very long needle into your cheek with enough numbing drugs to make you feel paralyzed from the neck up and then drilling, cutting and hacking away at your teeth. All of this while spraying water all over your mouth until you gag or that suck tube takes your tongue down the drain into the black hole of dental spit. And, oh yeah, the talking to you part. I wonder if dentists get tired of having one-way conversations.
Then to top it all off, you hand over your credit card and look the other way while signing the receipt. Then you get the indignity of venturing out into view of the general public all while wiping the drool from your lips. Even though I know the fat lip and drool isn't really obvious, it still feels like it is. It makes me want to tell everyone who passes, "don't look at me that way, I just came from the dentist. I don't always drool..... really".
I wonder if this is what it feels like when those ladies get that stuff pumped into their lips to make them look "fuller". Can you imagine what a trip to the dentist is like for them? Yikes, what a visual!
The Tylenol is kicking in now so over and out.
I'm just now coming off the novacaine. Trying to open my mouth wide enough to shove some soup into it. My wallet is considerably lighter even with 80/20 insurance coverage. There is always something insurance doesn't cover. So then what's the point of insurance I wonder? (this coming from somone who made a fine living off of that industry and may again in the near future). Not to mention that 20% of alot is alot. Don't get me wrong. I love my dentist. She's pretty much on the cutting edge of it all (which is one reason she's expensive). She and her staff are good at what they do and very friendly. But man, it seems there should be a better way than seating you upside down, shoving a very long needle into your cheek with enough numbing drugs to make you feel paralyzed from the neck up and then drilling, cutting and hacking away at your teeth. All of this while spraying water all over your mouth until you gag or that suck tube takes your tongue down the drain into the black hole of dental spit. And, oh yeah, the talking to you part. I wonder if dentists get tired of having one-way conversations.
Then to top it all off, you hand over your credit card and look the other way while signing the receipt. Then you get the indignity of venturing out into view of the general public all while wiping the drool from your lips. Even though I know the fat lip and drool isn't really obvious, it still feels like it is. It makes me want to tell everyone who passes, "don't look at me that way, I just came from the dentist. I don't always drool..... really".
I wonder if this is what it feels like when those ladies get that stuff pumped into their lips to make them look "fuller". Can you imagine what a trip to the dentist is like for them? Yikes, what a visual!
The Tylenol is kicking in now so over and out.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
Gratitude, Sadness and Money
I sold some stock options today. I'm so thankful for this financial resource. I'm so grateful. But after hitting the "exercise now" button and seeing the transaction complete, I got up to get another cup of tea, feeling good I accomplished a successful transaction. Then I found myself standing in my kitchen crying. In an instant it happened. What was going on? Ah. Those options were really dreams for a life that will never be. Those options were attached to Jack. To his hard work, his dreams, his success and our future. I know the meaning of "blood money". I'm living it. I'd give it all back (plus everything else) to have him back. But, I've been working on trying to focus on and feel gratitude lately. So here I was crying and feeling sad but grateful at the same time. How can that be? Then I realized this is a learning opportunity. A life lesson that has been sent my way. I can be sad and grateful at the same time. I can be happy and unhappy at the same time. I can be thankful but wish for better at the same time. Life is not always about absolutes. Many times it's about life swirling around inside all at once. So, today I was grateful, happy, sad and angry all at the same time and it was o.k. For a young widow I think this is progress.
Welcome to the First Post - Ever
I'm joining the masses by blogging. Couldn't stay out of the popluar movement forever as I like to try to stay "with it" and current. Besides, there's always some incredible or profound (or so I think, ha ha), or idiotic thought running through my head so I thought why not share the wealth!
Why the name LifeChasers? We all chase life don't we? All to a different degree and level depending on what's happening in our life and the life of those around us. No judgements here about whether chasing is good or bad. It just is. I like the name and it's my blog. So there. More on the idea of chasing life later.
Welcome one and all. And welcome to myself for stepping out and trying something new.
Why the name LifeChasers? We all chase life don't we? All to a different degree and level depending on what's happening in our life and the life of those around us. No judgements here about whether chasing is good or bad. It just is. I like the name and it's my blog. So there. More on the idea of chasing life later.
Welcome one and all. And welcome to myself for stepping out and trying something new.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
