A Very Grateful Brave Girl

It's been a difficult week. Really pretty darn ugly in fact. Rubbed me raw. Hurt my heart. Buckets of tears. And through it all I did what I always do in public ... just keep on keepin' on and no one had a clue to how close I came to falling apart. Or running away.  

But I didn't fall apart. And I didn't run away. Because, after all, that's not what I do. Ever. 

So I cocooned. Cocooning works for me. I came home from work each night and went straight to bed. Pulled those covers right up over my head. And slept more than I have since ... well since before Vern was diagnosed, I think.

And today - instead of doing the Light the Night Walk I had planned in memory of Vern - I stayed in my jammies and spent time at my laptop. Just did not have it in me to put on that happy face and be in a crowd today. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society received my donation along with those of the few friends who supported me, so that's what was most important. 

And what did I receive?  Well ... I received an important reminder of a conversation I had with a very special little girl two years ago.

My November Brave Box arrived. Brave Girl Soul School is a gift I've given myself and this month's focus is Everyday Gratitude. I opened up the box of beautiful artwork and lessons and important words and knew this was what I needed to spend time on today. I really do believe that taking time to recognize the good things in our life, the everyday things that we often take for granted, can make a huge difference in how we hold up under life's struggles. I had lost sight of that this week.

So I started watching the project videos and there was Eden! What a wonderful gift to hear her sweet voice again. You see, Eden and I shared a seat on the Brave Bus at Brave Girl Camp in November 2012 and had a really wonderful conversation. That little girl is blessed well beyond her years. She saw me. Really saw me. And said things to me that touched my soul. 

But now it's two years later. And my soul was bruised and I had forgotten her words. Until tonight. Tonight I remembered.  Thank you, sweet Eden. What a blessing you are to me ... to this world.

A Trip Home ... and more

September ... it hasn't been a favorite month of mine during the past 4 years. Vern's final days were in September, and so many memories come flooding back at this time each year. I relive those final days at home, the 911 call, the hospital stay and move to hospice. Second guessing choices made, things missed, questions unanswered. And eventually remembering all of the love that surrounded him ... us ... during those final hours.

But there was a difference this year - and maybe a lesson to be learned.

Our very first international Camp Widow was taking place in Toronto on September 26-28 and I decided to make a stop in Michigan on my way there. That meant an extra busy few weeks at work before I left. And being the procrastinator that I am, packing was left to the weekend before my flight. I didn't plan on my car needing to go in for repair and having to get a rental - and the extra time the afternoon before my flight to return the rental and pick up my car. But that actually turned into a blessing, as there was no time to dwell on the September what-ifs.

Jeremy came with me ... to see family AND to help me by volunteering at Camp Widow. It was good. Really good. Although I'm not sure he enjoyed sitting through the long reunion lunches with my elementary and high school friends - but his reward was a University of Michigan football game on Saturday to make up for it. Not a great year for the Wolverines but we had fabulous seats and it was my first time in the Big House. And it stormed. Thunder, lightning, heavy rain, flooding, 60mph winds, hail ... oh Michigan, I remember you so well.

We had a nice family gathering and Jer got to see some cousins he hasn't seen in many years. And I was able to visit my sister Bev. She's in a nursing home; not sure she recognized me but I had some things I needed to say to her. Important things. She was widowed in 2002 and I didn't know then what I do know now. I believe she heard me.

From http://www.mykindaperfect.com/

So staying really busy was helpful in keeping those hard memories at bay. We said goodbye to family on the 21st and drove across the Ambassador Bridge to Windsor, Ontario. I purposely chose to not be with family or friends on the 4 year anniversary of Vern's death. I wanted that time to myself ... to walk along the riverfront, to remember, to be grateful for the years we had together. But that's not how it turned out. Instead we were grilled by Customs, interrogated by Immigration, nearly not allowed in the country, late arriving at the hotel, even later returning the car after finally finding the airport. Oh Canada ... what a welcome. Was there a lesson somewhere in there?  Yes, I think there was.

45 Random Acts of Kindness

45 years ago today ... it was hot and sticky in southeastern Michigan. I recall picking up our wedding cake from the neighbor who baked it (with my hair in those pink spongy curlers) and placing the cake in the trunk of my car to deliver to the church. No big reception for us (no $$) so we were just using the church hall to have some cake and open gifts after the ceremony. The rain didn't arrive until during the ceremony, and that just made the sanctuary even more humid. Perspiration dripped from my guy's face ... humidity or nerves?  Probably both. It was a whirlwind romance that neither of us could have ever predicted. "Where it began, I can't begin to know when ... but then I know it's growing strong. Was in the spring, then spring became the summer. Who'd have believed you'd come along."

It was the summer of '69.  I was just 18, Vern was 28. He had been one of my high school teachers, but there was no hint of what was to come until after I graduated. Our first date was June 8th, we were engaged on July 8th and married on August 23rd. That speedy time frame didn't seem out of the ordinary to us at all. We just knew that we were meant to be. And we were.

I was blessed to spend 41 years with Vern. Truly blessed that he chose me. And blessed that I was able to care for him and hold him as he took his last breath. I spent our 42nd anniversary alone here in our house; I was at Brave Girl Camp in Idaho on our 43rd; and last year I drove his Mustang up to Mt. Charleston and had a special hummingbird visit.

This year I ventured over to St. Rose Siena Hospital ... yes, the hospital Vern spent many, many, many weeks in during that long, hard cancer battle. I haven't been back there since that last time in September 2010 .... but it felt like that was the place I needed to do my 45 random acts of kindness in honor of Vern and our wedding anniversary. I know what it's like to pull into that parking lot and fear what is to come. I know what it's like to sit in the ER waiting and waiting and waiting. I know what it's like to watch that poisonous chemo being infused into the man I loved. And I know what it's like to feel alone, to feel that no one cares or understands just how horribly hard it is to put one foot in front of the other as we watch our loved one suffer. So I wanted to do just a little something to help some unknown people perhaps traveling that same road ... to let them know they are not alone and they are loved.

So I prepared the cards, added some cash or gift cards to the envelopes,bought flowers and balloons and helium. And off Jer and I went. First stop was to pick up 6 dozen Krispy Kremes, and then off to St. Rose. 

Cards attached to bags filled with surprises.

What an amazing morning. There have been some major changes at the hospital, lots of construction (finally a parking garage is being built!). We found our way into the ER waiting room and made some staff extremely happy with the hot Krispy Kremes. I explained why we were doing this and they were surprised and so appreciative. We then headed up to the 3rd floor - that's where we spent a lot of time as it was the chemo and surgical floor. More donuts for the staff. And I gave the gift cards to the charge nurse to give out to those who really need them. Jer and I then headed down the hall and gave out flower bouquets to the patients. Oh my - this was extra, extra special and something I will do regularly. We met a couple who had just celebrated their 55th wedding anniversary and a woman who had just celebrated her 45th anniversary in the hospital - and a lovely Iranian woman who was overwhelmed with our gift and kept shouting to God to bless us. Patients and staff were so surprised at our generosity - and so very thankful. Then we were off to the parking lot to fill up balloons with helium and attach a card with some cash in it to 20 cars. We chose to place them on the cars in the ER parking spaces and were paid a visit by a Security guard. When I explained what we were doing he was rather impressed and gave us the ok to continue.  

The back of my car filled with goodies.

The ER parking lot

I don't like to honor the day Vern died ... that is a day for private reflection for me. But this ... oh yes, this is something I will do again and again. On our wedding anniversary, on his birthday ... and I'm thinking once a month 'just because'. 

I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something I can do.   Edward Everett Hale 

I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again. 
Stephen Grellet  

There is Love

This date ... May 4 ... the date the word  C A N C E R  was first uttered ... continues to hold power over me. It casts its shadow each year, taking me back to that fateful day. In all honesty, however, the word 'cancer' had first paid a visit to my brain the afternoon before - when Dr. J called us with the results of that morning's MRI saying "My God, you have a tumor on your spine. You're meeting with a surgeon at 7am tomorrow morning." 

I do think there's some changes occurring as the years pass, however, as I now can see how much love surrounded us that day. It was there holding back the fear as I struggled to get Vern into the car that morning. It filled that small room in the surgeon's office when he showed us the MRI and explained how bad things were. It enveloped us in the car as we sat absorbing all that had been shared with us before entering the hospital.

source

And while there were many awful, hurtful things that occurred during those first days and weeks,  L O V E  was there ... always.  I find myself on this date each year, reading back through our CaringBridge journal. Reminding me of  ... the daily struggle, the wonderful medical personnel we were blessed with, along with those who should have chosen a different profession, the miracles we were granted, the joys we encountered in the midst of the horrors. I'm grateful I have those entries. But I didn't share everything there. I wanted those posts to be positive; I worked so very hard to keep Vern positive. I didn't share the personal hurts of disappearing friends, didn't share the disappointing behavior of friends and family, co-workers and my boss. But reading those entries jogs this old brain of mine - and while the unwritten hurts flicker into my mind they are now quickly replaced with the reminder that LOVE triumphed over all of it. The deep love shared by Vern & I and the eternal love of our God who was there throughout each of those 1602 days that cancer shared our lives. 

I had forgotten this quote that I shared in my July 5, 2006 journal entry. It held me up then and it holds me up now. It was written by Jim Chaffee, caregiver and husband to his wife, Janice, who died in February 2007 after a 3-year battle with multiple myeloma.

"So when my spirit screams "...where the hell are you, God?" my questioning void is filled with the companionship of the One who cried, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?" There is no formula here, people, no four easy steps to lead us into understanding grief, no purpose driven "ah-ha" to explain why all this is happening. Christ simply and passionately hikes up His robe, sits down next to me, pulls my tear-stained face into His chest, and He weeps...He weeps with me, He weeps for my wife, He weeps long, deep, body rattling sobs, with snot and tears dripping from His chin. He weeps. From the bowels of one who has felt forsaken, who has felt loss, who aches when I cry "This just isn't fair!", who truly feels my pain, He weeps. And in His tears, in that sacred space called sorrow, I know God is there."   © Jim Chaffee

There is Love

Perhaps

I'm feeling something ... not sure exactly what it is. But there's a shift and it's not entirely pleasant or positive. Could be caused by many things but I find I'm reacting ... to things, to people, to their social media posts, to their blogs ... differently than I normally would. My compassion level seems to have taken a hit. Have I spent too much time making sure others were ok while not addressing my own grief?  Perhaps.

The house is very quiet now. Except for those 'house' sounds. You know, the ones you don't usually hear because the tv is on and people are around. Jer moved out in September, so the quiet is more intense. I know that's easily fixed by just turning something 'on' but I'm kind of liking this quiet so maybe I'll just let it be. Perhaps.

I can retire with full 30 year benefits next January. Part of me thinks it would be wonderful. No alarm. None of those 'work issues'. But part of me is frightened. Work is my main 'social' outlet. Sad, huh?  I talk and interact with people all day long there. When I stop working it will just be me. Alone. Here in this house. Ah, these life decisions. Retirement? Perhaps.

I thought I had already dealt with my "aloneness" ... wrote a blog about it in Widowed Village nearly two years ago. But I guess there's a transition with that, too. This aloneness feels different. It's more final. It's my life. And I have to keep pushing those ugly thoughts aside. Like ... if something happens to me how long would I lie here before anyone noticed I was missing?  Ugh. Not a pleasant thought at all. I think I'll worry about that another time. Perhaps.

You may have noticed I've used the term "house" instead of "home" in here. Michele's keynote speech at the recent Tampa Camp Widow addressed making our house a home. It hit home with me (no pun intended). My dear Brave Girls spread that same message. And I'm trying. Really, I am. I am not proud of the way I have lived since Vern died. It's been my ugly little secret. Well, not so little. It's pretty big, actually. I have boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff everywhere. Mostly unopened mail. I can't tell you why. I don't understand it myself. I just have had a need to ignore it ... to pick it up out of the mail box and put it on the counter until it becomes too much and gets moved into yet another box. So I'm working on it. One box at a time. Should I have talked early on to a counselor about why I'm behaving this way? Perhaps.

And I just realized that all of these things settling into my thoughts right now may just be related to timing. May 4 is 2 weeks from today. May 4 ... the day that everything changed. It may have been 4 years ago, but I can go back to those exact moments in a heartbeat. I can see the MRI, hear the conversation, see his face, feel his fears. Yes, maybe my melancholy is just related to timing. Perhaps.

My time at the ocean

If I had written this post when I first arrived home last evening, it would have had a different theme.  I was on a super high after spending 4 days in Folly Beach, South Carolina at an ArtBeach Retreat. A beautiful beach house, butterflies, amazing art lessons, sunrises that take your breath away, wonderful women, daily dolphin visits, yoga on the beach, dragonflies, Hummer limo ride, laughter, connections, sharing. It was exactly what I needed at this time in my life. It filled my heart and touched my soul.

Even the flight delays yesterday didn't dampen my spirit. I was excited to return home, to get busy DOING the things I've been thinking, planning, preparing to do but could not actually get STARTED doing. I felt I had turned an important corner.

And then life hit me up side the head yet again. I don't want to share details, but think it's important for other widows - other people - to know that there is no escaping the ups and downs of life. They happen to all of us. What we must do is find a way to live through them. Somehow. Tears during the night when the issue first surfaced. Little sleep. More tears. Tears again this morning when my feelings were hurt by some silly Facebook stuff. Good Lord, I'm 62 years old.  But a hurt nonetheless ... and it caused my ugly feelings to surface ... I am friendless, invisible, unappreciated, unliked, unwanted.

Many may be surprised to learn I have these feelings ... often. They see my posts on Facebook and in Widowed Village. I'm the cheerleader, the volunteer, the positive one, the 'never say no' gal. I'm the one trying new things, stepping outside my comfort zone. But rest assured I carry these ugly feelings with me wherever I go; I just work extra hard to try to keep them below the surface. I believe it's important to not put a focus on the negative. When Vern was alive, I didn't have to work hard at that. His support and love helped me to be strong and confident. But now ... now it's just me. And it's hard work to do this stuff on my own. While I'm missing him.  But I must. There is no other choice.

During the cancer years and since Vern's death, I have bristled when people would say how STRONG I was. It felt like an excuse to not have to offer assistance or encouragement or anything at all ... because my strength during these hard times surely meant I didn't need anything from anyone. So I've resented the word STRONG.  But during the retreat we had an opportunity to get henna tattoos (they aren't permanent) ... and I chose to have the Japanese symbol for STRONG painted on my left wrist. Time for me to embrace it. I AM strong. Damn it. I have to be.

Oh - and then I decided to get another henna tattoo on my right forearm. Love this one. I'll surprise a few people at work tomorrow, I'm sure.

So what are my take-aways from all this?

• I know that I must find a way to spend time at the ocean regularly. It has to become a priority. Don't know yet how that will happen, but I am going to put that on my vision board and keep those positive thoughts vibrating out into the universe. 
• I know that I need to spend time doing something creative each day. Journaling, painting, doodling, stitching ... whatever speaks to me each day.
• I know I need to spend less time on my laptop. I didn't take it with me on this trip and I got along just fine. Going to try setting a timer to limit myself.
• I know that I am strong ... and that's ok.
• And the big issue?  Well, I'll think about it tomorrow (as Scarlett O'Hara said).

A dream ... finally

I honestly don't recall the last time I remembered a dream. Before Vern got sick I had vivid dreams and remembered them all. But during the cancer years I didn't sleep much and when I did it was for very short periods of time. He needed me a lot during the nights and I guess I never had enough time to get into that 'dream' sleep.  My body apparently got used to that and it became my routine even after Vern died.

I've envied my widow friends who share amazing dreams or visits from their lost loves and wished that I could have that experience.  And - finally - it has happened.  I awoke this morning remembering a little visit from my Vern. A soft voice in my ear of love, support, reassurance. And a reminder that he is with me always, holding me up whenever I need it.

You see, it's been a rough week.  Can't share details, but an old wound was reopened and it hurt. Bad. I didn't expect that it would. Thought that I had settled all of that. Sent that person off to Pluto, thanks to Brave Girl Camp, where their actions could no longer hurt me. And it was working. But this action got through. And I cried. And I thought very seriously about retiring immediately and running away. Somewhere. Anywhere. To a place where I knew no one and no one could ever hurt me again.

And I missed Vern. Deeply.

Really needed to talk to him about this. He always had such an amazing ability to understand an issue completely and to be able to offer suggestions to help me find my way through the rough spots.

And last night he did that again in my dream. I am grateful. I am blessed.

And I've now sent this person to a galaxy in the Hubble Ultra Deep Field ...  I googled to find what the farthest distance was from Earth, since Pluto obviously didn't cut it.

Time

I've passed the 3 year mark ... sounds like a long time. But it doesn't always feel like a long time. And yet, some days it feels like forever .... I miss him.

When someone asks how long it's been and they hear '3 years' I usually see the look. It's been that long? You should be "over it" by now.  And I resent that - but I don't show it. I've become really, really good at hiding my true feelings. It's just easier that way. For me. I don't necessarily recommend it for others.

The days leading up to September 22 were once again harder than the actual day. I took a couple of days off work so I could have the time to reflect, to feel what I needed to feel. And I wallowed in it. Felt it. Grieved it. All of it.  And then I decided I needed to finally do something I'd been putting off ... get his Mustang running again. So on Saturday, Sept. 21st, I spent several hours doing just that. AAA got it running again with a new battery; I took it down for an oil change and a car wash. Because the battery had died, it didn't pass the smog test so that meant I had to go to DMV to get a 10-day extension (since the license tags expired at the end of July while it sat in the driveway). And the A/C compressor died, too. Just couldn't be easy, could it?  But I did it all and it felt good.

September 22 was a lovely Sunday. Cooler temps, a light breeze, a perfect day for a drive with the top down. I headed out to Red Rock Canyon, a favorite spot for Vern & I over the years. Learned that I qualified for a $10 Lifetime Pass to the National Parks - a perk for hitting 62 this year. I drove along the 13 mile loop, stopping now and then to take photos. Had to pull off when the Diamond Rio song "One More Day" came on; it always makes me cry. And then The Calling's "I'll Go Wherever You Will Go" played. OK - thank you Mr. Radio DJ Guy. That's quite enough.  Decided to head down the road to Spring Mountain Ranch while I was in the area and it was beautiful. Found a little bench in the shade by the ranch house and just enjoyed the view and let my thoughts flow.

I've chosen to spend this special day alone the first two years. That felt like the right thing to do then. But this was the right thing for me to do this year. Nature and all its beauty can have quite a healing power. Am I "over it"?  Oh no ... don't expect that to ever happen. But time has allowed me to learn how to recognize and listen to that inner voice that knows exactly what I need to do to get through the tough days - and time has given me the strength to be selfish when I must ... to do what I must to live this life without my Vern. 

"But for those who love, time is eternity."

The wound remains

I really expected this year wouldn't be quite so hard ... that my thoughts wouldn't take me back to this day 3 years ago ... the last day he was here in this house. The day I had to call 911 for the final time. But it has. The sadness. The heaviness. It seems to reside in my heart and burst forth even before I realize what the date is. Perhaps it will always be like this. An annual rewind of  one of the most important weeks of my life.

I find myself needing to go back to my CaringBridge journal to read again of those days. To try to understand how I could not have known that it was the beginning of the end. The signs are there ... in hindsight. And I beat myself up for not seeing them then. For not talking to Vern about it when he was still able to talk about it.  But I didn't and I can't change that now.  I did not expect that he would not come home. I did not expect that call would lead us to hospice. I had no idea when those 6 EMTs gently lifted my love onto a gurney on the 14th day of September in 2010 that he would be gone just 8 days later.

During those hard cancer years I didn't realize I had a wound, too -  there was no time, no energy, no desire to worry about me. My entire life was devoted to caring for him, to ease his pain, to research the questions, to be his advocate in the difficult medical community, to watch for signs, to give shots, to administer IVs and pills, to take blood pressure, to measure oxygen levels, to clean and rebandage that stinkin' wound that wouldn't heal, to spend countless nights curled up in a chair next to him as we waited in the hospital for the latest crisis to be handled, to flush his PICC line, to get him to his dialysis and chemo and doctor and blood transfusion appointments, to deal with that colostomy bag, to keep his spirits positive, to love him.  But my wound was there, festering just below the surface, waiting ... waiting ... waiting to break through and rip me open when he was gone.

Three years ... that wound is still there. It has healed at times - on the surface, just like Vern's. But it remains. Always and forever. A reminder of both the hard times and the blessings that were ours. Yes, blessings. There were many, even in the midst of the heartaches. Some days I can focus on the light ... some days are wrapped in the darkness. But the one constant is love. It was there ... it IS there ... always.

Loneliness vs Solitude

Language has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone.

And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone.

~Paul Tillich

This past Friday would have been our 44th wedding anniversary.  I spent this one alone ... again ... as I have since Vern died. I miss him. I'm lonely for him and the life we shared.

But this anniversary was different. Because instead of staying secluded in the house in my jammies I decided to drive up to Mt. Charleston. It has been years since I was there. So long, in fact, that I missed the Kyle Canyon turn and didn't realize it until I passed the Paiute reservation. The city's growth has had an impact in that area. 

As I traveled up the mountain, I saw the devastation left by the recent fire and also the glory of nature among the pines. New growth was peeking out already in the midst of the burned area. Bright green sprouts emerging from the high desert soil. And I felt a kindred spirit with the land.

I am also awakening from the devastation. Oh, many thought I was already there. You see, I'm a pretty darn good actress it seems. Few have ever recognized how deeply I keep my sorrow hidden. Some may ask ... I respond that I'm ok and have learned that if I immediately ask how they are the focus shifts and never returns. And that's ok. That's who I am, who I've always been. Except with Vern.

I absorbed all of the natural beauty of this area, pulling off now and then to take a photo or just reflect. It was healing. I arrived at the Lodge and decided to stop to get some lunch. I was seated in the outside patio area where I could enjoy the view - and the many hummingbirds feeding along the roofline. They were entertaining and reminded me of how much Vern loved watching them out our back window from his hospital bed. Tables full of couples and groups surrounded me. Life goes on. We shared pleasantries. I splurged on a dessert and when it arrived the others exclaimed (it was a huge brownie sundae). My response? "It's my 44th wedding anniversary and I felt like treating myself since my husband couldn't be here with me." No one 'got it' ... or at least they didn't appear to understand that the reason he couldn't be there with me was because he had died. As one group left, they said 'congratulations' and the waiter later asked what I was celebrating. I hesitated. I stumbled over the words. Should I share or just let it be? I shared. He was uncomfortable. He didn't charge me for my coffee.

As I headed back down the mountain I stopped again at the burned area, just taking it all in. And then a hummingbird flew up to my front windshield. I was delighted. Why was it here? In this place of blackened and burned vegetation. And then it flew to my open passenger window. It hovered there, looking right at me. I exclaimed. Out loud. It took my breath away. I thought it might actually fly inside the car, but it remained there and then flew off. My God wink. My Vern sending me a message. What a perfect, perfect anniversary gift.

"Vern! I'll never forget him!"

My heart was touched today ... by some very special things.

A dear friend who has dealt with chemo and radiation for breast cancer asked if I would go to the oncologist with her to get the results of her PET scan. Her husband couldn't get off work and she was worried about the results and facing them alone. She has been so very brave and this was absolutely where I needed to be (and my amazing boss had no problem with me coming into work late so I could do this). So R and I thought good, positive thoughts together as we waited for the doctor to come into the examine room.

Now you also need to know that my friend sees the very same oncologist that Vern saw for the 4+ years he battled cancer. Vern & Dr. G had a really special relationship ... sports ... USC ... Ohio State. Used to drive me nuts. I'd be anxious to get test results and they'd spend nearly the entire appointment time talking sports. I hadn't seen Dr. G since before Vern died and with the number of patients he sees I really didn't expect him to remember me after nearly 3 years. But Vern? Yeah ... I did have an expectation that he would be remembered.  So in walks Dr. G and he does his obligatory handshake and 'nice to see you' comment. I saw a flicker of recognition but then my friend asked him point-blank if he remembered me. Sweet man that he is, he said yes (but I didn't believe him ... I have changed quite a bit from those hard caregiving years), so I said "Ohio State" and held out my pendant that has Vern's photo on it. He said, "Vern! I'll never forget him!"  I responded, "me, too" and wrapped my hand around the pendant.  A really precious moment for me because it feels that no one but me (and Jeremy) remember my dear Vern these days.

And then Dr. G shared the wonderful news that my friend's PET scan did not show any metastatic cancer. Hallelujah!!  Two super special moments in just a few moments' time.

And  to top it all off, I received an email this afternoon saying my blog has been named a Top Widower Blog! How cool is that?  I really didn't think many were even reading it any longer, so this was a very nice surprise.  And I'm in excellent company ... I've met many of the other Top Widower Bloggers at Camp Widow.   http://thediamondlining.com/top-widower-blogs/

One more thing ... today is the 22nd ... yep that ol' day of the month that my love left this earth.  Perhaps it was all meant to be. I used to hate the 22nds of each month. The reminder that time kept marching on, adding months to when I last held Vern. But today? Ah, but this 22nd feels mighty good. Good for my dear friend, good for my Vern and good for me, too. Vern's presence was all around me today.

So what are the take-aways from this day?  Well, this graphic kind of says it for me ....

Random Thoughts on a Long Holiday Weekend

Holidays are still not good days for me. Guess it's just that my 'aloneness' seems emphasized and I find myself missing Vern more on these days. So I do my best to just ignore them. Stay inside, no TV, let the day pass unnoticed. Almost. And maybe this one was rough because it was just a couple of days after my return from Camp Widow. A bit of a Camp crash perhaps.

Attending Camp as the volunteer coordinator is a very different experience than when I attended as a camper and only did a little volunteering. But I feel this is what I need to be doing. Giving back. Thinking of others. It's good for me and I think I'm good for it, too. And I think I'll get better at managing my time as I get more Camps under my belt.

The best part of Camp for me has always been the connections made with others. And I met some wonderful new people in San Diego. Some from Widowed Village, some not. And some amazing local widows who just wanted to volunteer and not attend the workshops. Wow - what a blessing they were! I'm going to need to find some of those wids in Tampa.

It's summer in Vegas and it is HOT HOT HOT. No outside work on my horizon. Well, maybe just a little bit of yard trimming at daybreak or sunset. I noticed today that the lantana has already spread out onto the sidewalk. Amazing that anything will grow when it's this hot. It's 7pm and 108. Ugh.

So here we are ... a nice break before beginning work on the March Camp volunteers ... what to do with that time?  I'm still working, but I need to have things to keep me busy on the weekends so I don't revert back to my hermit stage. I think perhaps it's time to focus on me just a bit. I'm sleeping better (for the most part) but my eating habits are horrible. I skip meals, don't drink much water and have Blizzards for dinner. So I'm going to try to get back to drinking the required amount of water daily and eating throughout the day. And I'm going to pull the clothes off the treadmill and start walking. OK - don't hold me to any of that ... but I'm going to try.

I'm always encouraging other widows to try new things, to step outside their comfort zone to find things that can bring them joy. Some are easier to do than others, but it's important to just try. If it's not a good fit, then you don't need to do it again or even finish it. But maybe ... just maybe ... you'll find something that you love to do and all the trials will be worth it.

I took a 1-day photography class at the Springs Preserve last month. It was hard going alone. It was hard eating lunch alone in the cafe. No one offered for me to join them and I'm not one who would ever ask. But I sucked it up and did it instead of leaving. And the afternoon portion of the class was the best part.

I signed up months ago for the online Brave Girl & LifeBook art classes but my volunteer work got in the way and I've not touched them. Thankfully, they're available through the end of the year so I'm going to jump back into those. I'm not an artist by any means, but I like how I feel when I'm doing some of this creative, multimedia stuff. And it includes journaling and life lessons, too. So I'm going to schedule art time each week.

I just signed up for The Chopra Center's "Awaken to Happiness" 8-week online course. It's free and sounded like it might have some good self-reflective stuff in it. We can all use more happiness in our lives, right? Especially us widows. Here's a link if you're interested in that:  http://www.chopra.com/8wk-happiness-sign-up#   I also signed up for their next 21-Day Meditation Challenge; this one is on "Miraculous Relationships".   https://chopracentermeditation.com/home   I enjoyed the "Creating Abundance" challenge so we'll see if this one speaks to me.

I'll end with my Camp Widow taxi driver story.  He picked me up at the airport and asked whether I was there for vacation or a conference. I shared the Camp Widow story. He then asked if I was dating and I shared that I didn't plan to date or remarry. I was lectured the rest of the ride to the hotel about how I needed to have someone else in my life, it's not right to be alone, why on earth would I say I wouldn't date, how could I not want someone else in my life.  I tried to explain, really I did. But he would have none of it. Thankfully, it's a short distance to the hotel and I was rescued by the hotel bellman opening up my door. My goodness, that was unexpected. But after I escaped it did make me smile.

Me by Jo Dee Messina

An online friend posted this video on Facebook and the words really spoke to me. When I wrote my blog post yesterday, this was pretty much how I was feeling - even though I wasn't able to really say that. Jo Dee's words speak for me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlV0TzuZlVg

I’m somebody’s daughter, somebody’s friend

A shoulder to lean on - no matter when

I’m somebody’s teacher, when they don’t understand

Got a seat in the bleachers, I’m the world’s biggest fan

Oh well

I wish I was half the woman I’ve gotta be

Wish I had all the answers right in front of me

I’m everything to everyone and I’m scared as I can be

When I look into the mirror all I see … is me

I’m somebody’s sweetheart, somebody’s girl

Someone’s direction to find their way in this world

I’ve got to be perfect, even when I feel bad

I’ve got to keep giving when I gave all I had

Oh well

I wish I was half the woman I’ve gotta be

Wish I had all the answers right in front of me

I’m everything to everyone and I’m scared as I can be

When I look into the mirror all I see … is me

When I feel uncertain

I’m on my knees to pray

I know that it’s all worth it

that at the end of the day

Wish I was half the woman I’ve gotta be

I wish I had all the answers right in front of me

I’m everything to everyone and I’m scared as I can be

Cuz when I look into the mirror all I see …

Is somebody’s daughter, somebody’s girl

Someone’s direction to find their way in this world ….

Happy Birthday .....

When I was younger, May was always a special month. My birthday, my Dad's birthday and 2 of my sisters' birthdays all fell within one week. And Mother's Day usually landed close by, too.  Lots of celebrating and good memories.

But since Vern died, it seems that May takes me to a dark place. That long, incredibly hard cancer journey began in May. And even though it's been 7 years (how is that possible?) I can still see in my mind's eye the day when we first heard the word cancer. I can see us in the dr's office looking at the scans, hear the dr tell us how bad it is, that immediate surgery is needed and I must check him into the hospital now. I recall driving down the street towards the hospital, but then pulling off into a residential area. I found a shaded spot and pulled up next to the curb. Holding hands. Silence. Tears. Drawing strength from one another to face the challenge.  During the 4+ year cancer battle I don't recall thinking much about May. Or any specific dates. It was such an effort to just keep doing what needed to be done. But now ... now that I'm alone ... May seems to be the month I will find myself crying at the drop of a hat ... songs, comments, stories ... it doesn't take much to get the tears flowing. I'm not consciously thinking about it, but it's there ... those memories ... lurking just below the surface. And I can tell you that spending a birthday without Vern is just not something I can enjoy.  I miss him. And it's just a reminder that one more year has passed without him.

I sometimes get so tired of feeling it's my responsibility to always be the positive one, to always be strong, to always set a good example of how to survive losing the love of your life. Really tired. But I can't help myself. It's who I am. And who I am is because of the years and the love I shared with Vern. So I keep on keeping on.

So while this has been kind of a tough day ... there have been some special moments that I am grateful for:

• Had a wonderful long lunch with my friend and fellow widow, Linda. 
• Received lots of online birthday wishes.
• Saw a couple of posts from widows who have appreciated my comments and support.
• Had a nice phone conversation with my "little" brother and one of my sisters.
• Received a lovely bouquet of tulips from my brother and his sweet wife.

And I smiled when I saw Google wishing me a Happy Birthday.

So I made it through today fairly well, actually. I got out of my pajamas - that's an improvement from previous years. And I ventured outside the house ... another improvement. And it's one day closer to the end of May.

I've returned from camp ... Camp Widow, that is

I just returned from my 4th Camp Widow. That may sound depressing to anyone who has never attended one of these very special events, but let me assure you it isn't. Camp has helped me to grow, to find my way, to find my purpose.

Each of my experiences has been different - mainly due to how far out I was from losing Vern.

• I was 11 months out for my first camp in San Diego in August 2011. I was afraid of going where I knew no one except for the Widowed Village friends I had met online. It was emotional, but it was exactly what I needed at that time. I had found my tribe. People who got it, who understood how hard it is to move forward when you've lost the love of your life. And a very special friendship came out of that camp (♥ Lisa M).
• My second camp in Myrtle Beach in April 2012 was the first East Coast camp and it was amazing. The hotel is right on the beach, so I was able to go out to the ocean whenever I felt the need (I feel a close connection to Vern whenever I'm at the ocean's edge). It's a smaller hotel, a smaller number of campers, it felt comfortable. And I finally was able to meet a very young widow with 2 children who I had such a special connection to in Widowed Village (♥ Crystal)
• My third camp in San Diego in August 2012 was the first time (well, the only time, actually) that I drove Vern's Mustang alone to California. That was a big step. I even stopped at Crystal Pier ... really, really hard and I could not stay ... but at least I walked up to cottage #9 and embraced those memories. Baby steps. Made possible because of Camp Widow.
• This year's East Coast camp was again at Myrtle Beach - I still love that ocean-front location - but it was different, because it was my first one as the Soaring Spirits National Volunteer Coordinator. An excellent learning experience ... and a reinforcement of my need to change my ways when it comes to my procrastination and delegation issues. I was finally able to meet a long-time online friend from NPRs Our Cancer (♥ Kathie - I do hope I'll have another opportunity to spend some time with you) and another special friendship was made with an amazing woman (♥ Debi).  I can assure you I will be better prepared for this year's West Coast camp in June so I'm able to carve out time for these special connections. They are the heart of Camp Widow.

I remember when I first joined Widowed Village and saw people who were 2, 3, 4 years out from their loss still there ... thinking OMG, please do not let that be me. And yet there I am still. I now get it. Those who are further out can help provide HOPE to those who follow. We can show them that you CAN survive this ... the pain, the loneliness, the sorrow, the fear. That you CAN find a reason to get up each morning, to find some joy, to learn how to do new things, to be comfortable being alone, to give something back to this world.  And there are some who do continue to struggle as the years pass - and we can be there to hold their hands, to assure them they are not alone in this journey ... because it sure can feel that way some days. (I'll always be there for you ♥ Lisa W)

So I'm back home now, catching up at work, catching up at home, catching up on my sleep ... and looking forward to my 5th Camp Widow in just 9 weeks. 9 weeks?!?!  Oh dear ... I'd better get busy! If you're coming and you want to volunteer ... let me know!!!

http://www.campwidow.org/
Email:  diannew@sslf.org

Changes

A lot's been happening lately. I've thought that I need to write about it, but then I get busy doing something and forget all about it. I'm not a great blogger. I don't feel 'inspired' to write on a regular basis. I just write when it feels right and hope that my words will click with someone who needs to read them at that moment.

One of the biggest changes is I'm now the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation's National Volunteer Coordinator! Quite a mouthful, huh? It means that I'm writing a formal volunteer program and job descriptions for volunteers for each of the Camp Widow events and for Widowed Village, our online community. I'll be recruiting and assigning and training the volunteers who are needed in order for our programs to exist. Our East Coast Camp is in April and West Coast is in June, so I'm knee deep in preparing the schedule and getting everything in place. It's a BIG job and it's keeping me very busy after work and on weekends. Which is actually an answer to prayer. How do you like that?

I'm getting close to a point where I can retire from my paying job, but I've been fearful of how I would actually handle that. I haven't been handling my weekends well at all. My Facebook friends would probably argue that point - but they only see what I let them see. Yes, I'm going to Broadway shows at The Smith Center. And yes, I do things occasionally with my Brave Girl buddies or widows. But far more of my weekends continue to be spent in my jammies sitting at this laptop. Not eating well. Not sleeping well. Not even showering on those days I don't leave the house. I know I can't continue that behavior 7 days a week when I retire. So I was praying something would come along to fill my time. Voila!  A phone call from Michele Neff Hernandez and an offer of a fulfilling volunteer position. I'm in!

While many might assume I'm an extrovert, I'm actually an introvert. And these social things take a lot out of me. I need my alone time in order to be "on" during the work week or social outings. So when I schedule something that keeps me busy most of the weekend ... well ... it is a bit unsettling.  Nearly every time I do this, I come very close to cancelling my plans. Just too much. But this is one of those things that I really push myself hard to do. I hear Vern's voice pushing me to do what I know I must do. I know how easy it is to cocoon. And I know that isn't entirely healthy. So a good kick in the pants is what I do to get myself out that door.

Here's a perfect example.  A good friend from Widowed Village, who I met at my very first Camp Widow, asked if I'd like to join her for a Widda Weekend Getaway here in Vegas. I love Lisa and spending time with her sounded perfect, so I signed up. Now this was with an online widowed community that I haven't participated in, so I didn't know any of the other people attending. I worried that I wouldn't be accepted. I'm too old. I'm too fat. I'm a Widowed Villager, not in TheWiddahood. Would they resent my involvement in Widville and Soaring Spirits? I really had to push hard to get myself out that door Friday afternoon, but I am so very happy that I did. It was a marvelous weekend. Full of sharing and caring and new friendships and laughter. Yes, laughter. Widows can laugh, you know. We may feel guilty about it, and seeing photos of ourselves giggling and laughing will sometimes be hard to look at. But we need it. I actually can remember the very first time I laughed hard after Vern died. Someone caught it on camera. And posted it on Facebook. Ouch. That hurt hard. But I survived it. And I survived the comments from those who thought that photo meant I was "over" my grief. Over it?  Really?

It's been 2-1/2 years since I last held Vern. That just does not seem possible to me. I miss him. Every single day I miss him. But I'm living my life ... because that is what he would expect me to do. Lots has changed. I've let my hair grow out a bit. I'm in a new job at the company I've worked for for 27 years. I'm a Brave Girl! I'm doing kind things for people who need it - some anonymously - and it feels really good to make a difference.

And yet there's another whole list of things I'm not doing ... or that I need to do.  His car is sitting in the driveway with a dead battery again. I still haven't gotten around to replacing the TV. I still have boxes all over the place that I need to go through. His clothes are still in the closet. There's still hospital stuff out in the sunroom. I've returned to sleeping in his recliner the past few weeks.

So while I'm doing really good in some areas, let me reassure my widow friends that it's ok to still have 'things' to deal with. I don't beat myself up about these things. I'll get to them. Eventually. When it feels right. Until then ... it doesn't hurt anyone to just let them be.

This widow journey is one of ups and downs - smiles and tears - good days and bad. I've learned how to take what each day brings and make the best of it. Or try to.  And when I just can't? Well that's a stay at home in my jammies day. No apologies.

Yes, I've changed. There was no choice.

A little ...

It's been a long weekend, with my normal Friday off plus the holiday today. As usual, I get to this point of my weekend - where I realize that I must set the alarm for 4:30am and be prepared to head back to work - and I regret that I haven't accomplished all of the things I think I should have.

Actually, I've done more this weekend than usual ... cleared some piles, organized some things, got caught up on some paperwork, got the Geek Squad in here for the tv ... but it's also been a weekend where my feelings have been raw, where I've allowed probably innocent comments to hurt me, where I feel I have no true friends who really 'get' me, where I really want to just disappear. And in that rawness I believe no one would even notice. or care. or miss me.

I've never once thought of suicide in the wake of my grief. My faith carries me through the rough times I face. I know that tomorrow is a new day and I will put on that happy face and make it all work. That's what I do.  But others who are faced with those relentless grief demons often do not have the ability to fight them off.

An online friend wrote the following after learning of a widow's suicide. Her words touched me deeply and I saved them.  With the Mindy McCready tragedy in the news, I thought sharing my friend's words might help to remind us to listen for those "little" opportunities that come our way ... and to give just "a little" to perhaps make a big difference in someone's life.

I didn’t know her really, yet the story of her death…. 
Sadness is so often nearer to us than we know.
But what if we did recognize the sadness?
Whatever could we do? 
Whatever could we even say? 
We so easily disregard the power of “a little”. 
In the meantime, darkness can be as close to us as the thickness of a wall.

Doubt can live next door to us and we disbelieve it does.
Our own certainty feels weak so we don’t offer our little strength at all.

The big disregard of so many little things. 
Meanwhile despair disguises itself well. 
Hidden in a little disregard. 

But what if? 
What if we didn’t hesitate “a little”? 
What if we didn’t hold back “a little”?
What if we did “a little”? 
What if we said “a little”?
What if we dared “a little”? 
What if we acted when we got that “little” nudge? 
What if we really understood the power of “a little”?

Would our little make a big difference to someone? 
Could it matter--would it help--even just “a little”.
Our little placed in the hands of God. 
But I only read about someone who I knew a little.

~Sue Burke Lombard

Happy Birthday, My Love

I've taken our "special" days off work since Vern died. It has just always felt like the right thing to do and allowed me to feel however I needed to feel on his birthday, my birthday, our anniversary, his death date. I've not done anything special on those days. Stayed home. Inside. In my jammies. Quiet days filled with memories. And tears.

I'm grateful that I started this blog. While I haven't been a daily writer, I've still captured my feelings along the way. And it's helpful to be able to read back to earlier times. To let the words take me back to those first days, those first months, the first year. To see that time HAS made a difference. The missing him remains the same. Always will. The wound is still there. But it's healing.

Tomorrow is Vern's birthday. And I'm going into work. I thought about taking the day off again. But I think I can do this. His first birthday in Heaven was on Super Bowl Sunday; last year it was a Monday. But with it being a Wednesday this year ... well, somehow that felt reason enough to give it a try. You see, I work hard to keep my sorrow to myself. Especially at work. And I'm feeling stronger in a lot of ways, so I guess this is a test of sorts. Let's see whether I pass it.

Happy Birthday, Vern. I will always love you.

Time to Make a Difference

The last day of the year was always when I'd take a look at our finances to see what donations we were able to do for the year. That all stopped while Vern was sick. No time, no extra dollars. I believe it's important to "pay it forward", to "make a difference" if we're able ... so I'm once again spending New Year's Eve deciding where I can give. There are many worthwhile non-profits out there, but Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation/Camp Widow/Widowed Village are at the top of my list. They were there for me when I was at my lowest point. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week I could log into Widowed Village and find someone who "got it", someone to chat with, someone who listened, someone I could encourage. Priceless. Thank you, Robin.  Camp Widow helped me to grow, to learn that I could step outside my comfort zone by going somewhere that I knew no one. They provided me with the resources I needed to move forward, and they provided an opportunity for me to meet some of the wonderful folks I had gotten to know online. Soaring Spirits is the mother organization of both Widowed Village and Camp Widow. Michele's vision of providing peer-based support for those who are grieving is focused on hope and healing. If you're able to help, please consider a donation to this amazing organization.

Widowed Village Donation  This link is to Robin's Widville-specific donation page

Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation Donation  Soaring Spirits is a 501(c)3 non-profit organization

So this is my third New Year's Eve without Vern.  In our younger years, back in Michigan, we used to go out with several other couples to a fun celebration with a band and dancing and party hats and horns (and alcohol). Seems like a lifetime ago. I guess it really was.  After we moved to Las Vegas, we settled into a quieter routine (yes, there's some irony there, I know). Just us, together. Sweet times. Tonight will bring a quiet entry into the new year. Alone physically, but not really. He's always right here with me. In my heart.  Wherever I happen to be.

I had this photo put on a 16x20 canvas last year and it's up on the fireplace where I can see it from where my laptop sits (I admit that I spend most of my at-home hours in this spot). Vern's a little scruffy, but it was a perfect day. He was able to get into his Mustang and we took a drive on a beautiful April day in 2010. When we got home, I asked if he felt up to letting me take some pictures. He was tired and he had to use his walker, but he managed to make it up to his rose garden. I ran into the house to ask Jer to come out so I could snap this photo. I had no idea that my love would be gone just 5 short months later. Make the best use of the time you have ... there are no guarantees how many days any of us have left.

Speaking of making a difference ... this year Brave Girls Club sure did it for me!  They're not a non-profit, so no donations to give (well, I have been known to gift a class or two to special people) ... but they have just announced something we can all do to make a real difference in this world.  Please click on this link, watch the video, and make some Truth Cards. They've provided a pdf that has everything you need to do that. And just think about how those brave sisters in Manila will feel when they see your card.  What a way to bring in the new year!

Brave Girl Truth Card Exchange

P.S.  And just so you know ... I have slept better and longer since clearing off the bed. Who knew?

Word for the Year

I've never been very successful with my New Year resolutions; stopped doing them years ago. But earlier this year I selected a word for the year ... just one word to keep in mind as a sort of intention for the year. My word for 2012 was Brave ... and it really was a brave year for me. Perhaps not risky brave, but I did things that were hard for me, things that I had put off, things way outside my comfort zone. Here's my list:

• Emptied storage shed full of memories
• Went alone to a show at the Smith Center when a friend cancelled at the last moment
• Flew to Charleston, stayed at a B&B for first time, toured the city alone
• Drove from Charleston to Myrtle Beach for Camp Widow East
• Drove Vern's Mustang to San Diego for Camp Widow West
• Visited our special Crystal Pier (this one wasn't too successful, but at least I did it)
• Attended Brave Girl Camp!
• Went to Dr. Gollard's office
• Drove to Big Bear for a widow's retreat and ziplined while there
• Decorated my Christmas tree
• And today ... I finally cleared off Vern's side of the bed

The bed thing might take some explaining. I slept in Vern's hospital bed or his recliner out in the family room for 2 months after he died. And when I finally decided I could venture into our big king-size bed, I had to pile stuff up on his side in order to stay in there. Yep ... that stuff has stayed there for over 2 years.Tonight will be my first time sleeping in that big bed without something alongside me to hold on to. Now that's brave.

Think I need to add another bullet to my list:

• I've survived another year without my love

So I'm thinking my word for 2013 is going to be Believe. I do believe that next year will be a good one for me. I believe that I will finally get this house cleared out and create the space I need and deserve to live in. I believe that I will begin to eat healthy, start walking, lose weight, get more sleep. I believe that I will make a difference. That's a pretty good start, don't ya think?