Sins of Sunnyside

New Year No Tears

2011-01-21T06:32:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like I embody many different people. There is the girl who feels paralyzed in her grief. Unable to function or focus, who just mourns her husband and can’t believe he is dead. Then there is the other girl who tries very heard to push past the pain and sorrow and live in the world, raise her children and cherish her blessings. It is exhausting to be both these people. Sometimes they seem to coexist on a certain level and some days there is clearly a winner. Regardless then there is a third smaller version of me who never goes away. She is the mother and she is always present, always active - battling the other two beings for fear that she will totally screw up her children’s lives. I’m tired just trying to explain myself to myself sometimes.

It is a new year. Everyone has big plans and dreams and are focused on what lies ahead. Me, I am just trying to get through today. Being it is a new year I have a confession to make. I put myself on drugs. I feel torn about making this decision, but after dealing with my feelings for fifteen months I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t take how quickly I fly off the handle with my children. I can’t take the sorrow and sadness that follows me everywhere I go. So now I am just another grieving widow on drugs – just great.

I went to my doctor who now writes me scripts for Ambien without a second glance. I told him my concerns about my mood swings. Then he asked me if I was back on the market. I am so used to the crazy things people say to me – sometimes I just answer the crazy without question. No, I’m not ready, I replied. Well he said, you know you can’t sit around and be sad forever. Actually I was thinking that is exactly what I plan on doing I thought. He said to me, if you started dating someone you would have some help with the children, some help financially and you may have a better outlook on life. Instead of strangling him with his stethoscope, I told him once again – I’m not ready. Ok he said, I understand, how about you try Paxil instead. Great I said, and left his office wondering if anyone else has a doctor as crazy as mine.

I don’t feel that different. The only way I can even tell the drug is working is that I can’t cry. I just cannot cry. This feels so unbelievably wrong to me. I have always been a crier – when I’m sad, angry, happy – my emotions are expressed with tears. I have cried every single day since my husband has died without fail, until now. I feel incomplete. I feel off kilter. I feel not like myself, but then I wonder if that is the point to being on this drug to begin with. Still it disturbs me to not be able to cry. I wonder if it means I am becoming inhuman, unfeeling and cold. If I can’t feel emotion enough to make me cry, maybe my heart is not only broken it is iced over. I feel lost without my tears. They are such a huge part of my world that without the release of crying, I don’t know what else to do.

I told my neighbor about my inability to cry. She said when the time is right the tears will come. Your mind is protecting itself from all the pain – maybe a break from crying is just what you need right now. So I wait – wait until something breaks through. I can tear up here and there if I really try, but the sobbing – lost, gone vanished.

I read your suicide note sometimes to try and see if I am any closer to understanding your actions. I think about how you thought the children and I would be fine and better off without you. I wish you could see that on some level we are surviving. I wish you could understand it feels like living with my head chopped off. You could not possibly comprehend what your actions have done to the children and I. The very idea that you thought we would be fine sometimes makes me laugh uncontrollably. It is just ridiculous that this was your final thought. I wish I could walk right up into heaven and show you how not fine I am and how much I grieve and suffer.

I went to the cemetery today. My first visit this year. I trudged through massive amounts of snow, weaving in between rows of graves to find you. I stood there this morning in the freezing cold, snow falling everywhere and all of a sudden I started stomping on top of all the snow over your grave. I stomped and stomped and kicked the chunks of ice as far as I could. I just went berserk. I screamed at the world and kicked and screamed some more.

When it was all over, I was horrified with myself. How could I treat your grave this way kicking and stomping. But sometimes I just have no release – sometimes everything just piles on top of me, over and over again and I get to the breaking point where the only way to release some of whatever is inside of me is to go crazy. I unleash enough madness on my children – sometimes kicking snow at your headstone helps get some of the pain out.

As I stood there berating myself for my actions, fingers frozen and shivering with cold the tears rolled down my face. Then the sorrow just washed over me as I thought about where I was and where you are and the sobbing came. I fell to my knees in a mountain of snow and put my hands to the earth and cried and cried like I haven’t done in weeks. I sobbed so loud and so long it just wouldn’t end.

I realized the truth of the matter. When the pain is so real and so raw and so awful, not even a little yellow pill can keep my tears away.

Year Two

2010-12-23T11:17:00.000-08:00

I have stayed away too long. It was never my intention to stop writing this blog. Some nights I was just too tired, or too busy or had writer’s block. Some nights I had so much to say, but it all felt so repetitive, I couldn’t find the strength to put the words down. The New Year approaches and a part of me just wants to try and say something – anything - before more time passes.

I remember when my husband was dead maybe six months; a few people in my bereavement group spoke of how the second year is much worse than the first. I scoffed at them in my mind. Really – how could anything be worse than what I am going through right now? As I am now well into my second year, I only wish I had listened to the wisdom of those ahead of me in grief. The second year is not only worse – it is much much much worse.

Why is that I wonder? I lay in bed at night trying to figure out the mystery of the agony that lies within my heart.

Upon reflection of year one I believe only a small part of me was really conscious of what I was dealing with. There is only so much pain and sorrow your brain can process. For a majority of the year I was just doing the bare minimum of feeling anything. I was merely struggling to just get through each and every day. I spent so much time the first year reflecting back a year – I lived in the past. Everyday I looked back at where my husband and I were a year ago. It was painful to think about, but easier than facing the day I was actually in.

There is a huge part of me that just counted the seconds of the first year trying to somehow make it through each special day my husband missed. Trying to somehow deal with the children and their loss; focusing all my attention to making sure they were eating, playing and not sinking into the miserable abyss that I lived in.

The first year was tough and awful and miserable and everything you can imagine. My first year of his death was the biggest challenge I had ever faced in ways you will never know – but year two – just wow.

I have watched over the past fourteen months as my family and friend’s lives have moved on. They are all back in their normal life. I realize that the world around me is changing and growing and people around me are taking steps forward – I however am not. I feel like I stand here stuck since the moment of your death, not moving, not changing, and not caring. I am still stuck in the grief that occurred the day you died and I have not moved an inch since you left.

Time marches in a different way for me. Year one was spent living in the past, feeling like a mere shadow of my former self. I no longer have that shield of armor. There are no more ‘remember when’ for me. I am forced to live each day entirely on my own. I expected to feel crushed by the weight of my husband’s death throughout the first year. The fact that this sorrow and loss has come with me into year two – makes me realize a large part of this pain is really never ever going to go away. The loss and sadness that were once slightly shielded by my memories are now free to recklessly invade me mind, body and spirit.

I sit some nights right on my kitchen floor staring at nothing and wonder if this is all real. I can’t believe you are dead, that we had your funeral and that I will never see you again. There are some moments where nothing about my entire life feels real.

Year two and the rest of the world looks at me as if I should be moving on. As if I should be ready and willing to throw myself into the world and start dating. As if I am ready to be the person I once was. But it’s not the same – not me, not anything. Sure I could go on a date. What would be the point? I would stare in disbelief at the person sitting across from me and think – where is my husband? What am I doing here? What is going on? I am not ready to look at the world with new eyes. Not when I close my eyes and only see his face.

I miss my husband more now than I ever did the first year. I pushed away missing him for so long because the pain was just too great. I think I spent so much time in year one trying to get through the pain, I never had a chance to just miss him. I lived in the past – feeding off memories. I am not sure if I am even making any sense anymore – I don’t care.

I miss his voice and his laughter. I miss his company. I wish I could tell him everything I am thinking and feeling these days, but I can’t. I wish I could share with him all the utterly ridiculous things people say to me in the second year. I wish he knew how awful his choice was and how utterly devastated he has left the children and I.

No one wants to read about my sorrow. No one wants to read about how the second year is worse. Do I laugh out loud and appreciate my children? Yes. Do I appreciate my family and friends? Yep. I wake up each day with renewed hope that today is going to be a better day. But for better or worse – the day doesn’t change the deep sorrow I feel in my heart.

The pain of loss that changes a person forever – this has not gone away with the passing of the first year. The realization that life is never going to be the same for my children and I – this is truly why year two is that much harder.

Torn

2010-10-31T17:28:00.000-07:00

I can’t complain. It has been a relatively good week. I woke up last Monday morning with an almost different outlook on life. I made it through a year. Everyday that I live now has been one I have already done without you. I can do this. I just kept reminding myself this over and over again. I can do this.

But this whole week has still been about you somehow. I kept reliving moments of sitting Shiva and wondering how this all came about. Last year this week was a blur. A moment in time I barely remember. It was a whirlwind of people and food and crying. I remember how I finally ripped the phone out of the wall as it just wouldn’t stop ringing. How the texts and emails and cell phone were all just too much. I am officially a year behind returning some phone calls – oh well.

Then there is today. My daughter’s fifth birthday. This is now the second birthday her father has missed – it just feels weird. Yesterday I had a small party in our park for her. There was a moment when I lit the candles and we started singing that I felt exactly like I did last year. I remember feeling so unbelievably sad. I felt the loss of my husband so heavily last year and this year is no different. How he wasn’t there standing next to us with big smiles watching our baby blow out the candles – how he just isn’t here for this special moment for her. It just feels so terrible. Every time I must live a magical moment for the children without you – it just feels like you die again and again - over and over for me.

If there is one thing I learned this year, it is how to put on my mask. My game face if you will. I can walk outside into the world and smile at you, make small talk and even pretend to be a human being. I am getting really good at making everyone in the world think that I am doing just fine. But truthfully I am not just fine. I am sad and lonely and even down right miserable at times. I am easily frustrated with my children and family. I don’t want to do anything extra special. I just want to somehow trudge through my life and get through each day.

I am sorry to reveal this information, but time doesn’t fix everything. Yes I am no longer a puddle of tears and emotions. But I am not fixed, not healed, not better and I never will be. I am changed and different and can’t go back to who I once was.

I struggle everyday within myself. I want so much for my children to be happy and have a full wonderful life. Sometimes I want for them another person in our lives to help make their life more special. But then I think about what that would entail. Me date – it is almost funny. I think about who I am and where I am going and it doesn’t feel possible. Most days I am perfectly content to live the rest of my life alone. This makes me sad for my children, but not for me. The world doesn’t understand what it is like to be me. They will never get the demons that I live with. The loss, sadness, anger and guilt; the emotions I feel that can’t even be put into words. I put every ounce of my being into my children and getting through my day. I don’t have any room for someone else - anywhere.

My children and I went trick or treating tonight. My second time without you. But last year – last year I remember ducking into corners and calling your cell phone a millions times. I would call and call just to hear your voice saying to leave a message. I seriously must have called your number over and over every chance I got. Sometimes I left you messages - like how could you be dead and not here with us. Sometimes I really thought by some miracle you would just pick up your phone. I was completely insane last year. I wandered the streets with the kids with my stunned zombie face and every single person who saw me looked upset for me.

Tonight I painted my face so you couldn’t see how I feel. We weaved through the crowds of people and no one this year gave me a second glance. I am not upset by my lack of attention. I just want our lives to go back to as normal as is possible. The kids had a great time, but I made them make one last stop before we headed home.

We went to the old house. As we walked up the path my son said – can I tell them we used to live here. I said of course. I walked right up to them and said - Hi we used to live here. We had some wonderful memories here and hope you enjoy your new house. They smiled and said thank you. I made sure the kids got double treats from them.

Alas, little did they know I am completely torn up about egging the place. Obviously I won’t. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.

365

2010-10-24T18:27:00.000-07:00

Time is such a strange thing. This year has felt like forever and yet part of me feels like you died only today. Today I don’t feel the same pain that consumed me when I found your body – the overwhelming sensation that I am forever changed. The rawness of it – the shock, the nonsense of what happened – that has little by little seeped out of me over the last 365 days.

This morning I stood in front of a mirror, trying to figure out who I am and where I am going. I walked away without any answers. All I could focus on was today you are dead a year. You have missed so much in one little year, it is utterly astounding. More importantly, what you will continue to miss pains me even more.

You have missed teaching your son to tie his shoes and how to throw a football. You have missed your daughter entering kindergarten and learning how to read. You have missed your oldest son excel to great heights in his career. You have missed birthdays, soccer games, report cards and skinned knees. You have missed major temper tantrums and truly lovely peaceful moments. You have missed watching your children smile, hearing their laughter and feeling their kisses.

You have missed 365 nights of spending time with me.

I have officially survived a year of firsts. I have celebrated every holiday, birthday, anniversary and day without you here by my side. I have gotten out of bed every morning without you. I have somehow gotten our children through the first year of your death. There is an odd sense of relief knowing that this year is over. But then I think back and just can’t believe I have survived this year without going insane. I really do not know how I got through it. How I got up each and every morning, got my children out of the house and started our day. I really absolutely have no idea how I did it. The only thought that continually comes to mind is that I did it for them. I have lived every day this year trying to act normal for my children. I did everything and still do everything just for my babies.

This morning the children and I along with a few friends went to the cemetery. The kids made you birthday cards and put them at the foot of your stone covered with bright shinny rocks. I thought I was going to be fine. I didn’t think I would cry. I thought I could be strong. I was very wrong. I looked at the children placing the cards just right, I looked at my friends and then I looked at your name. The weight of the world crashed onto me for a moment and I just went hysterical. The finality of it all. The end of the end. How you have been gone for a year is just madness to try and comprehend.

Your headstone is covered in rocks – a reminder to me of how many times I have visited you over the year. I stood there today just taking in the whole year – feeling everything I have gone through almost at the same time. It is strange – strange to think you will be there forever. So unbelievably difficult to imagine I really will never ever see you again.

Parts of me have spent this past year on an emotional roller coaster. I have spent the last year loving you, missing you, hating you and feeling guilty about you. Some days I only feel one of these emotions. Sometimes I feel them all in a matter of seconds. I don’t feel closure today. I don’t know what I feel.

What I do realize today is that I am always going to love you, miss you, hate you and feel some guilt towards your death. These feeling don’t go away just because the first year is over. In fact, I think in a way I will always and forever feel this way. Maybe some of my feelings will lessen over the years. Maybe someday I will actually have to sit and close my eyes to picture the day you died. Maybe the haunting of the garage will someday fade away. But the deep feelings I have for you will always be with me forever and forever.

In some ways the scariest part of you being gone lies ahead. As the truth of my life unfolds before me, I am left realizing that yes, you are really dead. You are never coming back. My children have a dead father and I am really all alone. I think back to ten years ago when we were engaged. The world was open to so may amazing possibilities. The road we were going to travel down together was filled with so many plans, dreams and wonderful things waiting for us.

Now I sit here alone, writing about death and suicide and the next ten years terrify me. I am forced to take a path in life I never intended. I am walking this new route with two small children in tow. I am not sure what the future holds and only know that at the end of the day, there are two perfect beings who need me always.

I hope that I can make a wonderful life for them despite this major pitfall. I hope that I can make you proud of us and live our life filled with love and happiness. I hope you know that no matter what happens to us – you are always here with us. Always in our hearts and we will never stop loving you.

There are two things that I have been dreading for some time. Dealing with your year anniversary was a big one. Turning the corner of my street and seeing a moving truck was another. The house has been empty for six months. I have felt your loss and the loss of the house as if they were one in the same. Really it was the loss of my old life that I have been missing.

Today as I returned home from the cemetery there was a moving truck parked outside my old house. Today of all days my dead house is being inhabited. I cried for you and over the house today. But I don’t believe in coincidences. I feel very strongly that somehow G-d was closing all the doors of my old life today.

I pray that whatever door opens next is filled with a peace my children and I have not known for a long long time.

Final Days

2010-10-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

This month is speeding past me and I am finding it difficult to catch my breath. In one instance I want to get to the end so I am past October – on the other hand I am trying to cling to every day this month – reliving the memories I have left of you. This week I am living our final days together.

I bounce in between trying to remember you fondly and all the special times we spent together; as well, I am analyzing your every move, every word you spoke, to see if somehow you were trying to hint to me what you were planning and I just missed it.

Yesterday morning after I dropped the children off to school I went to walk home and suddenly found myself standing outside the garage. I don’t know how I got there. All I know is that I looked up and there I was; stuck in the place where your life ended and my life, as I knew it, did too. I was trying so hard to figure out how you drove your car inside, kept the motor running, walked over to the metal garage door and locked it. Knowing full well you would never walk out – and knowing even more so, that I would find your body.

I suppose in a way I am just torturing myself when I go physically and mentally to this place. I can’t help it. I can’t help but feel the need to punish myself at times over and over for the mere fact that you are dead and I am not.

I ran an errand and on my way home bumped into my neighbor who also lost her husband to suicide. She smiled at me and asked how I was. I smiled back and said fine. Did you ever have an inkling that he was planning on doing what he did, she asked me. I wasn’t even taken aback by her question. Maybe once upon a time I would have – but these questions don’t affect me at all. I don’t feel anything anymore - it was as if she asked me what day of the week it is.

I told her no, I didn’t have a clue. She sighed and said no, her either. She then went on and on to tell me how ten years after her husband’s death she still can’t believe he is gone. He didn’t have to die, she said. He could have talked to me, gotten help. He had so much to live for and didn’t have to kill himself. I don’t say anything and just let her vent. I keep my poker face on and nod my head, pretty much agreeing with everything she said.

I went home after listening to her for a while and realized how sad she made me feel. How terribly horrible I felt walking away from her. I was upset for her situation, but also felt like I am looking into my future when I see this woman. She is ten years into her suicide situation and has still found zero peace with her husband or herself.

I realize that I will never forget what my husband did. I know that I will miss him forever and that I will always wonder where I went wrong. It makes the future seem almost bleak at times. Even though I have two beautiful young children who I will watch grow and learn and change. I will never be able to rid myself of these memories and these feeling that cause utter turmoil in my heart. Knowing that I will live with this terrible tragedy for the rest of my life - well it just makes me feel broken.

Part of me thinks it is impossible to think anything other than I really am going to be sad forever. I may have almost gotten to the year, but at times I still feel like I am standing over your body watching your life slip away. I know I am supposed to cherish my life and my children and all my blessing and I do. But sometimes I also just wonder how you could have left me and your three beautiful children; left us behind to feel empty, destroyed and broken beyond repair.

This week I am really struggling with my memories of you. I think about how disconnected you were towards me the month before you died. I think about all the bad things I discovered after your death. I think about the man who I fell in love with and had two children with. I have all these emotions and thoughts coursing through my brain everyday. Sometimes I don’t know which ones to keep and which ones to try and rid myself of. Happy memories remind me why I loved you and married you and make me miss you so much it hurts. Unhappy thoughts make me feel terrible and angry and full of guilt. I am torn between the good and the bad. I guess deep down I know the answer. I love you and always will no matter what. So I will probably always suffer too.

I keep getting asked what I am going to do on Sunday. I don’t know - cry and mope and act miserable. Take my children to the cemetery and then the park where I will act like it is just another day. In a way, it is just another day that I must suffer through without your presence. Without hearing you crack a bad joke or tell me something sweet. It is just another day your children and I must live life without you.

Nothing is going to change on Sunday. Your final days with me are zooming by and I am trying to hold on for this horrible terrible ride. When I wake up Monday morning how am I going to feel then? When every memory I have of you will be older than a year is truly when the hard part starts. This is the question no one thinks to ask

When the year of firsts is gone, how will I feel the day after?

Disconnected

2010-10-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

I have spent the last two weeks completely disconnected from reality. I feel like I have been floating in between worlds. I am taking care of the children, going to work, doing what has to be done – but all the while feeling like it has been someone else living my life. I have felt completely removed from the month of October.

Part of it is my way of protecting myself. I have been dreading this month and the weeks to follow with such passion and intensity; I think I am just afraid of feeling anything at all.

The children and I had therapy Tuesday night and then I had my own group last night. To say that I have had therapy overload is an understatement. I sat in both groups talking and going through the motions, but without feeling anything at all. I was almost worried about myself. Like my heart has turned to stone and maybe I will never feel anything again.

Then I woke up this morning. Every thought and feeling I have had these past few weeks and pushed away came crashing upon me with such force, I just couldn’t breathe. Today I feel like I am plugged into every emotion on the planet and it is drowning me.

Today is your birthday. Today, based on the Hebrew calendar is the one year anniversary of the day you died. Today is six months since we moved from our house. Today is just insane.

I have had some really horrible mornings with the children lately. I hate the rushing, the yelling and the non-stop crazy that begins every single day. There are always tears and tantrums and then I must drop my babies off to school with a quick kiss and leave them for the day. I hate the mornings.

Today was no different. The children looked up into the sky and wished you a happy birthday. I tried to put on a smile but misery was on my face and I didn’t know where to put it. As I dropped my daughter off to school I hugged her with such ferocity that I just started sobbing. Thankfully I had sunglasses on and she didn’t notice. I ran home as the sobs just consumed me. I haven’t cried in public like this for months and doing so just destroys me more.

I ran to my car and drove straight to the cemetery. I didn’t even think about where I was going. The car just takes me there now without any prompting. I sat at your grave for quite some time just looking at your name and the date and taking it all in. Today, yesterday, the entire past year – it all seems like just a quick moment has passed and yet it feels like an eternity.

I sat down on the wet grass and wished you a happy birthday. I told you I was sorry I wasn’t making you meatloaf and mashed potatoes tonight – like I did on your birthday last year. I cried and cried and then I just stopped. I sat with you for a long time and felt so empty inside.

Each time I go to your grave I somehow expect you to appear. I expect you to walk out of the shadows and answer me when I talk to you. I expect to somehow feel your presence when I am there and yet I never do. I never ever feel you near me and it feels horrible. I am slowly losing you. I find it harder and harder to feel my connection to you. It feels like as the first year comes to a close my memories are fading. This is confusing. I feel horrified by this disconnection and yet I wonder if this is just how my heart is mending itself.

I sat at the grave thinking about how my emotions are so two faced. I love you with every ounce of my being. I hate you with a passion that courses through my veins. I gave you my heart and devoted my life to you and our children. I wonder how you could say you love me and then kill yourself. This is such a contradiction to me. How you seemed to willingly die and left me to fend for myself and be alone. I don’t know how you could have done this to me.

Sometimes I wonder what you want me to do with the rest of my life. If you want me to move on and live my life to great potential or if you want me to forever be mourning you and stay stuck. I wish somehow you could tell me what I am supposed to do – because I just don’t know. I have spent the last year thinking about the past. About all my mistakes and shortcomings and what I should have done. I realize that the past will always be there. Nothing will change it. When I sit at your grave and look up into the beautiful perfect blue sky I realize that it is the future which now terrifies me to no end. What to do now? Many nights I lie in bed and pray to G-d to send me an angel. I ask G-d for someone to help me with the children and to make me feel whole again. Sometimes I feel guilty asking for anything.

There is a huge part of me that wants my children to have a father again. I want them to feel part of a family and not just the broken mess I am trying to keep together. But I don’t want another husband. I don’t want to pretend like I am ever going to be in another relationship, when I am destroyed by the one I had with you. I am forever changed and it would truly take an angel to accept the person I am now. I don’t really know what I want anymore. I am lost and confused and this is just another inner struggle I have and maybe will have forever.

In ten days I will take the children to the cemetery. It will be one year. It will be the day you tried to live and failed. It will be the hardest day of the year to face. When I finally get to the year I will no longer be able to look back and remember where we were a year ago today. I will have lost you for good.

And then it will all be over . . .

October

2010-10-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

October – here we go.

The month I have been dreading since you died. This month is filled with more anxiety and emotional stress than any other time of the year. October. It feels like everyday there is something to reflect back on – everyday there is something to worry about and fear.

There are more firsts in this month then any other in the entire year – and soon it will all be over. I will have reached your one year anniversary and have nothing of you left.

I can’t tell you anything about this past year – nothing at all. I got through this year simply dazed and confused – a walking zombie with a fake smile. But I could tell you every single day about the month of October 2009. I remember the last month I spent with my husband as if I were reliving it now. This is a difficult time for me to say the least.

There are so many birthdays this month and so many people I love died this month it seems my brain and heart are working over time just to get through each and every day.

Next week my children have therapy, I have therapy and then it is your birthday and the Hebrew anniversary of your death. That all happens in just three days next week – the whole month is like this for me. A swirling of happy times and sad times and I won’t sleep till November.

I can tell the year is closing in as my family is starting to get angry with me. Apparently I was getting a slight break over the past year – but now I am no longer admonished from my actions. Well at least some things are back to normal. My mother actually yelled at me yesterday and told me to start thinking about someone other than myself for a change. I almost laughed. I don’t think I have been thinking of myself at all this year. I am thinking about death and children. Just death and children as I haven’t a clue how to think about me - not even close.

My brother is annoyed with me because I never blog about him. I tried to explain why our mom gets top billing – I fight with her more than anyone else in the world. I use this blog to get rid of my anger and to tell her how I feel without speaking on the phone. Regardless, he made me think about the fact that maybe I am doing some other important family members an injustice by not mentioning them. That I am taking my family for granted as I never acknowledge how much they do for me or how much I rely on them. I guess I thank my friends more publicly because they choose to help me – my family has no choice – they are just stuck with me.

My siblings are extraordinary and even when I ignore their calls or their invites to visit, I hope they know not to take it personally and realize how much I love them. My step-father has been my rock since I can remember and I don’t think I have ever mentioned him once in this blog. He is the first person I call whenever a crisis strikes me and I feel very bad about this. I never call him when there is good news - only when I am backed up against a wall, crying and worried. He always talks me off the ledge of anxiety and fixes everything. I guess I take for granted that he is always going to be there for me. Sorry B – I love you more than words can say and would be lost without you. You have done more for me than anyone else since I am 15. Thank you.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed exhausted but sleep would just not come. So instead of trying to close my eyes and relax I started to read my blog from the beginning. Trying to see how far from that sad girl I have become since a year has almost past. But after reading for a while I realized that I am not different at all. I haven’t changed much in eleven and a half months. Maybe I am no longer in shock and maybe I am not waiting for you to walk through the door. But I still miss you everyday and still wake up and wonder how it is possible that you are dead.

I am still two very distinct and different people. I am the person who the world sees. The mom who goes to work and picks her children up from school and goes to the park and does whatever a mom should. Then I am the person who found her husband’s dead body after he killed himself. I am the person who is forever changed and will never be who I once was. I am forever different and no amount of therapy and talking it out is going to change the fact that I am different inside. I just am.

Maybe I am being melodramatic about the month of October. Maybe when Halloween finally comes I will breathe a sigh of relief. All I know is that this is the hardest month I have had to face and there is no turning back.

Truth

2010-09-29T18:09:00.000-07:00

Last night my children and I had therapy again. There was a new person who joined the group and her reason for being there was suicide. There are now actually four of us in group as a result of suicide. Only one mother’s children know the truth.

I brought up my biggest fear and concern to the group. My children don’t really know how their father died. I have had a conversation with them in my head a million times. I start by saying how daddy suffered from depression but when I try to make the transition to what he actually did to himself, my heart starts pounding and I can’t continue. This is really why I haven’t told them yet. I just couldn’t find the words.

We went around the room and many people also said they were afraid to tell their children, because they didn’t want them to think it was their fault. Or add any more fears to the already growing list young children are afraid of after a death. The therapist gave us her opinion. She said that children can handle almost any news we tell them better than we give them credit for.

I said that I felt like maybe I missed my chance in telling the truth as they have never really asked me specifics about how their daddy died. They accepted when I told them daddy had a boo boo in his brain and have mostly focused on the fact that he is just not here anymore. The therapist said I did not miss the boat- in fact them being in therapy is the perfect time to tell them. Once they know what happened, they can talk about it here with the therapists in a safe and comfortable place.

Maybe it is that the year is coming up. Maybe it is the fear and anxiety of them not knowing that has weighed on me so intensely these past few months. Maybe it is the acupuncture I got on Monday. The woman stuck me with a ton of needles to alleviate stress, anxiety and grief. Maybe it was just time for me to find the words.

Tonight at dinner I sat across the table from my two babies and asked them if they had any questions about how daddy died. They both sort of shook their heads. I said to them, there are things I want you to know about how daddy died. I want you to hear them from me and not anyone else. My son started to cry and my daughter looked at me angrily and said – stop saying the words daddy died – you know this makes him cry! My son nodded his head and said, maybe you could say “passed away” instead. I almost went hysterical then. They are so smart and so wonderful to each other and here I am about to drop a bomb in their laps.

I took a deep breath and this is what I said: Daddy had a boo boo in his brain and this boo boo is called depression. When daddy looked out into the world he only saw darkness. He didn’t see anything good in his life. I pointed to them and said he didn’t see you two, he didn’t see me, he didn’t see anything at all. He just saw black. When daddy felt this happen to him he decided that he had to die. He couldn’t live just seeing darkness. He took his car into our friend’s garage and he breathed the poisonous fumes and in a minute he died. This is called suicide.

My son looked at me and asked – daddy did this? I said yes. He asked why the fumes were poisonous. I said when you are in a small space without any air you cough and it makes you close your eyes and then you die. He said daddy coughed for a minute like this – and then he started coughing for a long time. I got up in the middle of his mimicking, opened a beer from the fridge, sat back down at the table gulping and gulping and trying to keep myself in check.

I told them that I called the ambulance but it was too late to help daddy. He knew what he did and is in a much better place. They just sat there looking at me. So then I told them I have two more very important things to say. One is that even though daddy only saw darkness he loved you both more than anything else in the entire world. The other really important thing is that I love you more than anything else in the entire world and I am always here for you.

They didn’t ask any more questions. Nobody cried. I sat at the table starring at them in wonder. How did they handle this news so well and how did it take me eleven months to tell them? I feel horrible right now, but really relieved. Horrible that I told my children the terrible secret that I have been holding inside for so long; but relieved that I finally said the truth. Relieved that I don’t have to worry anymore about them hearing the truth from someone other than me.

Now I must go as I am so not done drinking beer tonight. As well, October is only a day away and more firsts and fears await me.

I Get It

2010-09-26T18:15:00.000-07:00

I get that this isn’t my fault. That there was nothing I could have done to stop this. I get that it wasn’t because I was a terrible wife or a bad friend to you. I get that it wasn’t because of the mortgage or other problems. I get that I missed every single sign because there were no signs to see. I get that when I looked into your eyes and saw your stress – the same kind I see in lots of other people – I never saw death.

The anger subsides the more I tell myself this. The more I try to understand that in your final hours you didn’t see me at all. You didn’t see your three amazing unbelievable wonderful children. I get that I could not have stopped you because you could not have stopped yourself. The anger slides away as I realize you just must have been suffering so immensely, that you couldn’t think of any other way out of the darkness you were in.

The sorrow and pain I feel now is that you did suffer so very much and I didn’t know. The pain I feel now is that I truly didn’t know you were in such a dark place. This I am so sorry for my love. This is what I feel now. I realize after eleven months it wasn’t my fault and it really wasn’t your fault. It is just that now I have to pick up all the pieces and take care of the children and there is no one left to blame. You are dead and there is just no changing this one simple fact.

You have been the topic of conversation in our house much more than usual. I suppose it is because the children are in therapy that you are in the forefront of their brains. So now every night my son cries at some point and my daughter turns to look at him, wondering why he is crying. It is so interesting the difference between how the two of them grieve you. Your daughter was a week shy of her fourth birthday and soon she will turn five. But what does she really understand about death? Only what I tell her. She knows you are gone, but doesn’t really grasp much more than that. Does she miss you? Absolutely; but talking about you never makes her cry.

Your son however, mourns you like me. Just talking about you sets him off crying that he tends to just not want to talk about you at all, as he hates to cry. We sat at dinner the other night and when I mentioned you the crying started. I looked at the two of them and said, “We are going to talk about daddy for the rest of our lives. Sometimes we will cry when we talk about him. Sometimes we will laugh, remembering how funny he was. Sometimes, maybe we will do both at the same time.” Then of course they tried to laugh and cry simultaneously which caused their milk to spill from their noses and mouths – it made a mess, but made the moment not so terrible for them.

As for me, I am trying not to think about the month of October. The more I try the more all consuming it becomes. I am trying to figure out how the hell I have survived this past year. I am trying to figure out how it is really possible that you have been dead for almost a year. It just can’t be so. I see you so alive and so clearly as if I just saw you a moment ago. I can’t breathe when I think about the reality of you being gone. I am just devastated that you are dead. It doesn’t seem to matter how many years will pass – I miss you and I am devastated that you are gone.

I never thought I would be healed by the time I hit a year. I never thought I would wake up on October 24 and feel great. I do however wonder if I will ever feel differently again. I want to talk about you and remember you more and more as it gets closer to the date. I just want the year to come already and yet – I dread it coming. I can’t possibly find the strength to acknowledge you have been gone a year.

My whole life makes zero sense to me now. I can’t keep a thought in my head. I can’t make small talk to people who don’t know what happened. I need a new fake smile because everything else seems to be failing me now. I don’t want people to look at me and see suicide and death – but it is all I see these days. All I know is mourning and I hate this – the sadness and sorrow that fills me. I just want to be the girl I once was. I just want to be a great understanding mom. I am not sure how to be a normal person anymore. This part I just don’t get at all.

Fight Club

2010-09-22T18:02:00.000-07:00

Last night the children and I attended our first family therapy session. My brother teased me that if I kept this up I was going to turn into the girl from Fight Club – who constantly goes to random group therapies for the rush of it. Trust me; this is not, so not going to happen to me.

On a positive note – the kids are in a group with other small children who all lost their fathers. Kind of sick that this is what I find positive. At the very least they met children who have suffered a loss similar to their own and hopefully won’t feel so different when this experience is over. I however had to sit in another group with the parents and listen to more horrible, sad and tragic stories.

I am able to relate to everyone on one level. We are all raising children who have lost a very close loved one. We are all trying to figure out the best ways to approach their questions, their sadness and their anger. Hopefully I will gain some useful information that can help me navigate through all this death crap.

The reality is that for me the connection begins and ends with my children. I don’t belong in a room with people who have lost their spouses to cancer or disease. In fact I envy the simplicity of their situation. If I said this out loud they would be appalled with me. But they cannot possibly understand how much I wish my answer was something simple like heart attack, car accident – whatever. Anything to me seems simpler than suicide.

So I will sit in this group for the next nine sessions and do it for my children. My friend asked me what did I get out of yesterday's experience. My answer was how much I appreciate my monthly suicide group. How much it means to me to be able to talk about suicide without having to explain so much of how I feel everyday. I don’t want to rehash the day I found you with another group of people. I don’t want to have to explain my guilt and sadness and anger – I just can’t do it anymore. I have relived the day you died a million times in my head. Please don’t make me say it out loud to a group who just won’t get any of it!

I had a pretty horrible weekend. For a variety of reasons – but the biggest one is that I totally lost my ability to fake my emotions. In fact, I am almost pleased about this turn of events. This Friday you will be dead eleven months. So for eleven months now I have had a big fat fake smile plastered onto my face. I wanted everyone to look at me and think I was doing fine and could handle it all. You know what? I am tired of trying to make everyone else feel good about me. I am tired of trying to conceal my pain and angst. I am just really freaking tired.

So I sat in the park and sulked. I didn’t want to talk to anyone and would have sat in my house all day sulking if I didn’t have two small kids who needed fresh air. I just wanted to be left alone and for the first time in eleven months didn’t go out of my way to hide this fact. I upset a lot of people and I feel bad about this – but sometimes I just can’t pretend like everything is fine and everyone who knows me and loves me is just going to have to accept this.

I know this is a rough time of year for all of my friends with kids in school. Everything is changing and nothing is really in routine yet and everyone is out of sorts. I get that this is partly the cause of my stress. Once we get into the swing of things everything will be a little bit calmer and easier. At least I really hope so.

But right now I feel like I live in a tornado – life is a whirlwind of actions and everything is flying over my head and I am busier than I ever was before. I have lists upon lists of stupid idiotic stuff to take care of and it all just seems impossible.

Everyone keeps asking me what are you doing to take care of you? What are you doing for yourself? Please stop asking me this utterly annoying question. You know what I am doing to take care of me. I fantasize about throwing rocks through the window of my old house or crashing my car into the idiot driving in front of me or screaming at the oblivious self centered parents at my kid’s school. That is my big thrill at the moment. This is not the answer you want – but this is what makes me feel better. I don’t do anything rash or ridiculous or break the law. I am trying to keep myself together. I am trying to put mascara on without a nervous breakdown – this is what I am doing for me.

I am trying not to think about Friday. I am trying not to think about how I have one more month left and then I must face the year. I am trying not to think about how much I love the month of October and yet only horrible terrible things have happened these past few years. I am trying to do my best despite the obstacles life is throwing at me.

I am trying not to turn into a Fight Club Girl in any regards – whether it refers to therapy or kicking someone in the shins for saying something so utterly stupid to me.

Too Much

2010-09-16T10:31:00.000-07:00

I am having an impossibly difficult week. I don’t know why every single thing just feels like it is too much for me. Dinner, homework, laundry, therapy – everything is overwhelming and stressful.

I am frustrated with myself because I am going backwards. I am not sure what the trigger is but it all just feels like too much.

I drive by the garage where you died a million times in a week. I barely even glance at it anymore. Yesterday morning after I took the children to school and left for work I drove past the garage – but this time was different. For some reason I glanced over to the sidewalk and your body was lying on the ground. I saw myself kneeling over you hysterical and I almost crashed into a parked car reliving the scene in my mind. I don’t know where the ghosts came from – but they were there and very real. I spent the entire way to work reliving that scene over and over in my head. I can barely recall anything from this past year – but the day you died – I remember every minute of it as if it were happening again.

I am having serious trouble with my time management and dealing with the children. I am just overwhelmed with the start of school and our new schedule. I am annoyed and upset that I am having so much trouble with this transition. I got through almost all of last year’s school year alone. I was fine – I did everything I was supposed to and more. What is it about this new year that is breaking my spirit? I keep asking myself this and wonder if I was just in shock for most of it that I didn’t feel anything. Maybe the start of the new school year by myself is just a reminder that this is my life now. I will always be alone and every year will just be me and there is no going back to the way it once was.

I went to therapy last night. I told the group how everything somehow feels like it is too much for me and then I cried. The moderator reminded me that October is approaching and maybe deep down this is what is really troubling me. Maybe he is right. Next month you will be dead a year and it still seems impossible. How – how have you been gone for so long – when just yesterday I saw you on the sidewalk. Maybe I am just going crazy.

I feel like I have been living underwater for all this time. When I do finally come to the surface the first breath I take will be one where I am gasping for air – trying to make sense of it all. Sometimes I feel like I have reached the surface and sometimes I feel like I am still drowning.

I did feel better after I left group. Being able to share my feelings and hearing how others are struggling with the ups and downs - it feels like the weight of the month has been released – at least for a little while. One person said that it has been over a year since his loved one died and he has not changed, but everyone around him has moved on. It is true for me too. On the outside my life is moving forward; I take care of my children and do everything that must get done. But on the inside my heart has not moved an inch since the day my husband died. But no one sees what is inside my soul. No one sees that I am devastated inside – they see what I want them to and they see a mom who does it all and never complains.

It feels very unfair to be falling backwards. Like the moment I let the anxiety of life take over, the demons from my loss don’t waste even a second to pounce on my fragile state. Like I am always at war with the outside world and even myself – like showing any weakness is my worst enemy.

Apparently I have to learn to fight harder and shield myself with better armor. I have to learn to calm down, deal with my time management and not let our new schedule get the better of me. Starting back to school seems to be harder on me than it is the children. I only want to be a great mom and a calm mom and I guess it means I have to try and push myself even more. This would be a difficult time of year even if my husband were alive. I keep trying to remind myself this. That even if I wasn’t overwrought with grief and sadness - the stress of life would still be here and I just have to keep moving forward.

5771

2010-09-10T19:02:00.000-07:00

For the past two days I have been doing a lot of reflecting. The Jewish New Year is upon us and this is a very special time. As Jews we are supposed to be asking G-d for whatever we want for the upcoming year. I spent hours in synagogue yesterday with my eyes squeezed tight as can be – praying and also trying not to cry.

What do I really want to ask G-d I kept thinking? What do I want for the New Year? My first reaction is to say I want a year opposite of the one that just past. But then I think about this thought and say no – this isn’t entirely true.

I obviously don’t want to suffer a loss of any kind. But I have learned a great deal about myself and others this year and I wouldn’t take that away for anything.

I learned that I am stronger than I ever thought possible. That throughout mourning and tragedy I can still laugh at myself. Despite the fact that my children have lost their father – they are still amazing children who play and laugh and love life. You would never be able to pick my children out in the park and know immediately they lost their father.

I learned who my friends are – really and truly deep down to the core. I learned that despite how much I fight with my mother – I would be utterly lost without her. I learned that my family is still morning for my husband and feels a sadness I wish I could take away from them all. I learned that my friends still think of my husband fondly and I am not the only one who misses him terribly.

I learned who I can call at 2am with any crisis. I have watched my family, friends, community and strangers rise above and beyond what any one person deserves. I learned that no matter what has happened no one judges me, treats me differently and I only feel compassion and love.

I have learned about myself a great many things. I realize now how much stress affects me and I am stressed all the time. I learned to ask for help when I hate asking for help. I learned to say NO when something really just got too much for me. I realized that being a mom has saved my life.

I realize that this past year has shown me how much I should appreciate my life and my children and not to take even the tiniest thing for granted. I learned not to complain because it just doesn’t solve anything. I learned not to be angry at people and try to rid myself of past grudges because life is just too short.

So what do I want to ask G-d for this New Year? Not too much as I have been blessed with so much already. All I really want is to stay healthy so I can care for my children. I want my friends and family to stay healthy as well. I want to be able to someday somehow be as good a friend to someone else as I have received this year. I want my family to stop being sad for me. I want all my children to have a productive school year and feel as blessed and special as they are.

The only other thing I ask from G-d is for direction. To put me in a place where I can be happy again in life. I want to find a career that allows me to be there for my children and also put food on the table. I want to find something that is just for me and that I love – whatever it may be.

I want to laugh again and really feel like it is OK to be laughing. I want my husband’s soul to be at peace. I want to visit his grave only sometimes and not every week. I want to find some happy medium between mourning him and remembering him.

Thank you G-d – Amen.

Life Now

2010-09-06T19:13:00.000-07:00

There are moments when I don’t think about you at all. Our days are busy and the children always want or need me in some capacity and I just act like a regular mom. It seems to be getting easier, the not thinking about you part. Except when I crawl into bed each night, look at your side and remember that it is going to stay empty. I try to push the thoughts away.

Then there are days where there is a crisis with a family member or a friend and the first thing I instinctually do is reach for the phone to call you. I watch as my hand moves to grab my cell and my brain stops me before I dial, but my heart wants to call you nevertheless. Then the pain comes back and I miss you terribly.

There has been a lot of drama lately and more than once over the past week I have gone to call you. Knowing that I can’t seems to make whatever crisis I am dealing with that much worse, because you are just dead, completely unreachable. I can’t hear your voice and you aren’t here to help me in any way. I miss talking to you and having you as my voice of reason. I miss you telling me that everything is going to be OK. Deep down I really just miss you so very much.

Our son looked at me the other day and said, “Mommy it is almost a year that daddy is dead.” I looked at him and just said yes, that is true. I was waiting for him to say something else, anything else. But he went back to building his Lego City and that was that. It is amazing to me how little we talk about you now. I still ponder whether this is good or bad. I wonder if maybe it is time to open the boxes with your photos. That maybe your image won’t be so difficult to look at and the children need your face around – to remind them how much they were loved by their daddy. But I am a coward at heart and don’t know when this will happen.

Our baby girl starts Kindergarten in two days. You aren’t going to be here to watch her set off with her brand new backpack and go to school like the big girl she has grown into this year. You won’t be here to make fun of me when I fall to pieces moments after I walk out of her classroom. She won’t miss your presence as you have been dead over ten months now – and this is a long long time for her. But me – I will sob extra tears for her growing up and you missing yet another milestone.

The Jewish New Year is also this week. Another holiday I must get through without you. I am apathetic about this holiday – no surprise. I will go to services, go to some meals and do it all for the children. My heart just isn’t into anything these days. I go through the motions for my kids and because it is what I am supposed to do – keep my life normal and all that. But it saddens me that everything I seem to do these days is just going through the motions. True I don’t mourn and cry like I used to. True time makes the pain edge it way slowly away – but life is just not the same and maybe it never will be.

Yesterday I took the kids to the park. I was the only mom. It was only because I have no idea what day it is that at first I couldn’t understand where all the women were. Then I realized it is Sunday – aka mommy’s day off. Dads are home and they are the ones taking the kids to the park while moms do anything but go to the park. I didn’t dwell on this fact – I just pretended like it was a Tuesday. I played soccer with my son and tried to teach my daughter to ride her bike without hitting the fence.

This is just life now. Getting through each day, dealing with any crisis that comes along, showing my children a fun time and trying not to look like the mourning widow I really am deep down inside.

Ten Months

2010-08-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

I have spent the last week and a half not writing. I am not sure why. It wasn’t intentional – like I chose to stay away from the computer. Just that the longer it got, the more I wanted to stay away. Starting yesterday I have felt the pull that used to overcome me everyday. The pull from my brain telling the rest of my body I need to purge. Get the all consuming thoughts out, as I am keeping too much inside and am about to burst.

So here I am.

Ten months just passed and the year anniversary of your death is looming over me. I have already started to write the year blog in my head and I am not even there yet. I am already terrified of the month of October – but that is another story altogether. I suppose a huge part of me just wants this first year over with. But there are still so many milestones to pass in the next few months. So many firsts still to conquer – this year is not going to end without more drama in my heart.

Our anniversary is in two days. We would have been married eight years. I am not going to dwell on this day. I am not going to look at our wedding album. This was our yearly ritual. We would look at the album and reminisce about what an amazing day it was. I haven’t even unpacked the album – it is going to stay in the box somewhere in the basement – untouched for now. I can’t possibly look at it – maybe I never will again.

I have learned some things about you this week that upsets me greatly. I think the worst part about finding out something new about the person I married and loved is not being able to ask them directly. I feel like another mystery is upon me. I wish I could sit with you and talk about it and process all that I learned. It doesn’t matter what it is – your suicide is still inexcusable to me. But this new knowledge makes me very angry with you. It makes the person I love fade a bit more and the person I am angry with rise to the surface.

I recently read your suicide note again. Though I really have it committed to memory, I tried to read it with new eyes. I tried to not think about what it said but what you were really trying to say to me – in between the lines so to speak. You told me that the children and I would be fine. You told me not to blame myself. I have been trying to focus on this line and believe you. I am trying really hard to get over the guilt I feel. To realize that there was no possible way I could have seen this coming and nothing I could have done to change the course of events that lead you to this decision.

Some days I feel like I was the best wife and friend I could have been under the circumstances and that I really shouldn’t blame myself. Then there are days where the children are talking about you and they miss you and I feel like there should have been some way I should have known. Mostly I feel very sad on these days. I miss you and wish our children didn’t have to grow up under such a blanket of sorrow. Usually the sadness and guilt go hand in hand.

I feel almost guilty saying this – but the guilt feelings that once kept me a prisoner in my own mind are actually starting to feel less constricting. I am not sure how this is happening; maybe the truth is that I just no longer want to feel guilty. I want to be able to sleep without the awful what ifs running through my head. It is amazing to me how I don’t wake up each Saturday with the pangs of dread I once did or how I don’t see your face the day you died as much. The memories of your death have seemed to lessen slightly and I only hope it continues. I don’t want to forget you at all. I guess I just want to forget how you made me feel the day you died and how I have struggled so hard all this time.

What consumes me now is the future. The new school year is about to start and I am feeling stressed about what is to come. Nothing in particular – just a new beginning with only me running the show. It is really hard being a single mom however I got to this place. I don’t want to start the school year still feeling guilty, sad and remorse. I am trying to get my act together so that I can be a good mother to my children and hope that I don’t screw anything more up.

Did I ever expect after a mere ten months to say the guilt is fading? Maybe it is the anger I feel towards you today that helps. Maybe it is your letter that tells me not to blame myself. Maybe it is that my children deserve a whole mother to care for them – not the incomplete mess I have been in the past.

Seven

2010-08-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

Seven years ago this week I was as large as the broad side of a barn. Way past my due date with our first child and thought I was a ticking time bomb. I remember calling you several times a night at work, to tell you that I thought this was “the call”! Only to call back moments later to say, false alarm – but please bring home some chili. It was a hot August and I was so pregnant and you would come home with whatever insane item I requested. You would rub my feet and talk to my belly and sit and eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with me. I remember that week so well.

This Sunday, August 22 our first child together turns seven and you aren’t here. Not to reminisce about that time, not to celebrate, not to do anything.

I didn’t anticipate how difficult this time of year would be for me. All week I have been falling into a downward spiral of sadness and despair and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I didn’t have this reaction with our daughter’s birthday. Maybe this is why I just wasn’t mentally prepared for how terrible this birthday was going to feel for me.

I realize now that you were only dead one week when our daughter turned four. I was still deeply covered in a blanket of shock and bewilderment when she blew out four candles on her princess cake. I was still knee deep in Shiva and mourning and her birthday to me was just another Shiva call – with the addition of four year olds and balloons. I don’t remember how I felt that day, because to be honest, I don’t think I felt anything at all. I was just numb.

But now it has been ten months. I am well over the shock. I am no longer a zombie. I feel everything and it feels terrible. I am irritated and angry, upset and gloomy, depressed and angry some more. I feel awful in my own skin and nothing seems to make these terrible feelings go away.

I went to the cemetery yesterday and just cried. I sat next to your stone and pleaded with G-d to send you home. Pleaded and screamed to the universe to just let you return – if only for one day. Please don’t make me celebrate this birthday without you! It is unbearable and I just can’t make any sense of anything right now.

I am heartbroken you are dead and devastated that our children are growing up and you are missing it all. It just hit me so hard this week that you are dead. That you aren’t here for them or for me and that you are just dead. I have been wandering around the house late at night – just trying to get away from myself. But no matter what room I go in, what book I pick up, what food I shove into my mouth – the dark cloud follows me and I am, of course, still me.

I hate that you aren’t going to be here on Sunday. Our precious son is turning seven and you aren’t here to witness the amazing person he is becoming – right before my very eyes. You aren’t here with me to just stare at him like we used to and marvel at how huge he is and how smart he is and all the things we used to say. There is nothing I can do to comfort myself. Nothing anyone can say or do to take away these awful feelings that gnaw at my soul and eat away at my heart. I am antsy and can’t get this sorrow to fade. I just want to stand by you when he blows out the 7 candle and look into your eyes and relish that we made this beautiful creature - just you and I.

I can’t get back what I lost, so it will be just me, alone, who looks at him in awe. Instead of feeling elated I will feel the dread in my heart and the guilt. Hope that I am doing a good job as his solo parent. Hope that I am making his childhood a great one, instead of a sad one. Hope and pray that I can keep the facade up and not cry huge wet tears all over the cake.

Ironically he hasn’t mentioned even once about you not being here for his birthday. He is so excited just to be turning seven. He is the youngest of all his friends and is just thrilled he finally caught up to everyone!

I am the one withering away from the pain he is too young to feel. I am the one who is hurting so badly that he doesn’t have you anymore. I am the one that suffers daily at the loss they have and will have forever. I am the one who just has to some how dig deep into my soul and get through another first - all with a huge smile on my face while another piece of me dies inside.

I am trying to get mentally ready. Trying to write and hope this purges some of what has been haunting me all week. So when my son turns seven on Sunday I will feel happy and joy for him. He will have a cake and a party and presents and friends and play soccer and have an amazing time. I will make sure of it. I will throw my own emotions out of the window for his special day and remember that this day it is all about my seven year old.

I will wait till Monday to go back to my own personal pity party.

Therapied Out

2010-08-12T19:32:00.000-07:00

I can’t even begin to express how therapied out I am. I spent two hours in group last night and three hours today with the children. Listening and talking and talking and listening. I am so sick of my own feelings I want to never have to utter another breath about how I feel. Other than to say I feel tired.

The children and I met with their therapist today. She originally told me she wanted to just meet us. That to me means she wants to say hi and send us on our way. Apparently a therapist’s way of meeting with you is to have each child sit in her office for an hour and have a session. I am not objecting – it is just that I had no idea this was her intent. I sat in the waiting room while my son went in first. My daughter laid on the floor coloring and eating pez candy as I didn’t come prepared with much else for what I thought was a quick meet and greet.

She gave me six questionnaires to fill out, two for each of us. They were maddening. I had to circle the answers from 1 to 5 with the answers being Never, Sometimes, Often, Always and one other in between that I can’t even remember. I suppose to a therapist these questionnaires are helpful. They were not helpful for me.

One was about my family. Does your family support you? Always. Can you go to your family with your problems? Always. Do you find your family helpful with their suggestions? Sometimes. Is your family happy with you? I left that blank. How do I know? Drag them into therapy and ask them yourself! Do you wish you had a different family? I said Always. Who wouldn’t want to be related to someone else? No offense everyone, but if the band Foo Fighters wanted to be my family – I would trade in an instant!

Then there was the harder one – designed I guess to see if I am depressed. Do you feel sad? Do you feel lonely at night? Do you miss the person who died? Do you still love the person who died as much as the day they died? Do you avoid places that remind you of the person? Do you see hear the person’s voice in your head? Do you see the person standing in front of you? I should have just put a giant A for always across the entire page – it would have helped my wrist. Incidentally I did hear my husband’s voice as I was filling out the forms. He told me to grab the kids and run out! There were so many questions – all almost the same with a word changed here and there. Listen up therapist - I am joining a bereavement group with my children because my husband killed himself – these questions are ridiculous!

The questionnaires were pages and pages and pages that went on forever. I think I stopped reading after my son came out and my daughter went in and I couldn’t see anymore. I was getting delirious from lack of food and water and the chair was hurting my back. All I could focus on was what was going on in the other room. What were the children saying? Would they tell her they catch me sniffing my armpits? That I don’t wear a bra around the house? What family secrets were they disclosing? It was just too much for me.

The questions about the children were so generic I just didn’t know what to put. Does your child share toys? Do they eat too much or too little? Do they fight? Do they have trouble sleeping? Do they cry? Really? You want to know if they cry. I put Sometimes for almost everything! I have a four and six year old – they act like normal kids. Normal kids do all this stuff and more. The one question that threw me for a loop was: Does your child do anything strange? Strange for who? Me or the rest of the world? My children like Justin Bieber and I think it is strange. My daughter wears a bat man mask to dinner but I don’t think it is strange at all. What is strange is having me sit answering five hundred questions about my children. What is strange is that I don’t get a diploma in psychology when I am finished here!

By the time she brought me into her office – the kids were in the hallway doped up on pez candy and gum - and whatever else I fished out of my bag. She looked at me and said – do you have any questions for me? I just wanted to say – Doctor I have been here for three hours, can I go home now? But I didn’t. I told her I was fine and would ask her questions as they came up. She still wasn’t done with me. As the kids kept interrupting and sticking their heads in and I kept having to go out into the hall to shush them as other people were trying to have productive therapy. She looked at me and said – it must be like this all the time for you. They always need you and you are always doing things for them. Duh – I am the mom. Dead daddy or not. They would walk around him to ask me for something he was holding. Death or not I was and always will be the go to person.

I don’t mean to sound angry or bitter. I realize this is a great thing for the children and maybe even I will get something useful out of it. It has just been a long 24 hours. I can’t even think about therapy or feelings or questionnaires for a long time.

As we left and got on the train home we were all zonked. I asked the kids what the doctor asked. My son said – mom she asked me over sixty questions! I laughed and said I know exactly how you feel. They would not really tell me specifics – I didn’t push. I took them to the diner for chocolate chip pancakes for dinner. They deserved it!

So I did it. I took them to therapy and now in September we have to go back for ten more weeks of group. The therapist did sum up what the kids said to her. She told me my four year old was confused and my six year old was sad. She forgot to mention that I have carpel tunnel in my wrist from circling so many questionnaires!

Constant

2010-08-10T12:15:00.000-07:00

For almost ten months now I have been visiting your grave. This has just become a part of my routine. Yet I go there each time expecting to somehow feel different, have a different experience. I never do. Being there is always the same. You are still dead and I am still overwhelmed with devastation. Sometimes I cry longer and louder than other days, but really nothing ever changes.

This morning I went to your grave and the grass and flowers growing were just so upsetting to me. Your grave looked like a little lost field in the center of the world. I snapped. I got down on my hands and knees and started pulling everything out. I was crying so hard and tearing at the weeds like a mad woman. I couldn’t help it. I was overcome with sorrow and sadness and lack of control – I just pulled and pulled until there was nothing left to grab at. I realize I can probably pay someone to keep your grave looking neat. But I am not ready to sign over the responsibility of your life. I am not ready to stop taking care of you – in whatever form it takes.

I stepped away from your grave, wiped away the tears and admired my work. Just a fresh layer of grass lay on top and it looked nice. Thinking your grave looked nice sent me into another wave of sobbing until I just lay down on the grass pounding my fists into the earth. I was screaming for you and wanted to know if you could hear me and feel my pain. Then I started to think about all the ants swarming around and I got freaked out and stood up, brushed myself off and calmed down.

I don’t know what set off this hysterical rage within me. Maybe the house, maybe the birthday party – maybe nothing. I realized today that so much has changed for me since last October. I couldn’t even begin to list everything. Oddly the one constant- the one thing in all this time that has not changed, is right here in the cemetery. You are and always will be dead and buried. I can look at the grave and think about how much time has passed. I can think about how every season there are subtle changes to the cemetery, but not much else goes on there. Maybe that is why I am so drawn to going back, even though it makes me so very sad. It has been the one constant thing in my life. I can depend on you being there when I get there. I know I will be all alone with my thoughts. I am comforted in some bizarre way that there is one place on the planet I know hasn’t changed.

Tomorrow is therapy again. I look forward to it and dread it every month. I look forward to being around people who understand my story and pain. A place where I don’t have to act any different or worry about my tears. I dread going because I always worry a new person will have joined the group. It sounds totally selfish, as of course I was once the newbie. It is hard enough listening to the regulars talk and hear about their daily struggles. When a new person joins it is really awful to listen to. Their pain is so raw and so new and the hurt and confusion and madness they speak of feels like my own. I relive your death in my head as if it were day one all over again. I almost have to stomp on my foot to bring me back to my present life instead of getting sucked up into theirs. Therapy is really hard and really helpful all bundled up into one.

Thursday I am taking the children to meet with a therapist who runs a family bereavement group. The ten week program starts in September and she wants to meet with us before the counseling begins.

I feel sick to my stomach about having to bring them to therapy. I should be taking them to girl scouts or soccer or really anywhere else but to a place to talk about their dead daddy. It just makes me so angry at their father to have to do this. I know that they will not view it like I do. They will have pizza and do art projects and make new friends.

But I know what happens in therapy. This to me will just be a place where we have to open the wounds and tell our sad story, and of course listen to other's devastating tales. Another constant.

Open House

2010-08-08T18:50:00.000-07:00

There is just so much to write about and not a moment to do so. This is the summer of “on the move” for the children and I. We are so busy and I am grateful for the busy lives we lead. For whenever we get a moment of downtime – the fighting begins between the kids and sadness creeps into my heart.

I have had a hard time sleeping this weekend – even on pills. There is so much swirling around in my head that I need to write it down and get it out.

I know I am dwelling on ridiculous stuff, but on Wednesday someone put a giant, I mean enormous billboard size For Sale sign on my house. I sound like a broken record, even to myself. But I am having a really hard time dealing with this. This weekend was the inevitable “open house.” I only know this because an old neighbor saw me and said, “Well there were plenty of people swarming around your house today.” I almost threw up on his shoes.

I am angry and the worst part is that I have no where for the anger to go. I am sad we lost the house; no I am devastated when I think about the house. I hate that it is being sold out from under me and I feel sick when I think about the house belonging to someone else – and really being gone for good.

I realize ultimately it is not so much the house I am so upset over. It is losing my husband that causes me to lose sleep. The house is just a small part of this year from hell I am living. I have just lost so much control over my life these past months and when I think about everything that is gone – it is devastating. I realize I am obsessing about this entire process. I can’t help it. Maybe when someone else has moved in then I will move on. For now though, I am just angry and sad and don’t know how else to feel about it.

My children on the other hand, barely glance at it whenever we walk by. Of course I stare deeply with a scowl and tears every single time. My husband’s friend said to me today, “Don’t you think it is about time you start cutting through the alley and stop torturing yourself?” I just looked at him and he said, “OK, never mind.” He is right though. I am totally torturing myself. Deep down I feel like I deserve to feel the pain of loss. My husband died partly because of the financial burden of the house and here I am walking by as I take my children swimming on a beautiful summer day. Part of me feels like I deserve to suffer and feel some of his pain.

My son has been counting down the days till his 7th birthday. All I can think about is his birthday last year. I had a small house party during the day while my husband was at work. Neither of us thought it was a big deal. We were going to try and do something special on his actual birthday – but the party he missed. I never imagined it would have been his last chance to attend his child’s party. I feel so sick about this – so guilt ridden. One of those moments I wish I could go back in time and change – but I can’t. I must suffer through this like I do everyday and try to deal somehow.

I also went to see my OBGYN this week – without getting into graphic details I was really upset about seeing him. My doctor has known me for over ten years. He delivered both of my children and I feel sometimes that he is part of my extended family. Two men helped deliver my babies and now one is dead – my doctor is all I have left.

He walked into the room with his arms wide open to hug me and I burst into tears. He asked about the children and how I am and then we talked medical. He asked me if I was sexually active. I gasped at him. Really? You are asking me this? Really? He just looked at me and said, “It’s my job!” I laughed and said, oh yeah. I guess better him than my mother.

Married

2010-08-03T18:54:00.000-07:00

I miss being married. More to the point, I miss being married to my husband. Sometimes I miss being married for really stupid reasons. Like when I am just too tired to carry in the bags of groceries, and there is no one else to do it. Then there are deeper reasons; when I just miss sharing my life with the man that I hoped to spend with forever. Regardless of the reasons, lately I just miss being married.

I spent this past weekend at a friend’s house in the Berkshires. My friend’s husband needed a ride back to the city and tagged along with us. He did all of the driving. It was such a familiar routine – to be sitting in the passenger seat taking care of the children’s every need for three hours. I haven’t been in the passenger seat for over nine months. I have been the driver; the driver, who is also responsible for everything else going on in the car. I closed my eyes and actually took a huge breath and relaxed. It was so nice to have someone to share the ride with – even though it was a temporary fix. I kept my eyes closed and pretended it was my husband driving and nothing bad had happened to me and that my life had regained some normalacy. Then I got myself really upset and pushed it all out of my head.

Sometimes I feel like I am still married. Maybe in my heart I will always feel this way. I still talk to my dead husband all the time. I still think that he may just surprise me and walk in the door. I really don’t know how to act any other way. I liked the married me – loved her in fact. I loved being married. Loved the insanity that exists in a marriage and the annoying things my husband did. I loved the comfort I felt and the security. Now my life is upside down, not comforting and a complete train wreck. So I guess pretending to be married is my protective bubble keeping me from going completely over the edge.

I don’t know how to act like a widow. The only widows I know are older than me and don’t have super young children – or are from the movies. I picture little old ladies who wear black veils over their faces and scowl at the world. I look in the mirror and don’t see a widow – I just see me. I still laugh with my friends and still cry and act sad when I am alone. I wonder sometimes if I don’t act like a widow because I just don’t want to be one. I pretend to be the person I once was and cling to what is comfortable as opposed to what is my reality.

Every once in a while I actually forget I am a widow and just act like me. It is a rare occurrence, but when it does happen I immediately feel guilty and wonder if it is OK to just be me again. Wonder if I can ever do it without the pain and guilt.

Last week I went out with a group of people to celebrate a friend’s birthday. I had a really fun time. We were drinking pitchers of mojitos; the band was great and we spent the evening outside under the stars on a beautiful summer night. I was dancing and singing and laughing - acting like my old self. Then there was this moment when I thought to myself – I am not really acting like a widow of nine months. Am I being thoughtless and heartless to my dead husband? I stopped myself in my tracks and walked back to the table.

I didn’t want to cry and ruin everyone’s night. I didn’t want to go back to drinking and dancing. I had this moment of terror in my heart when I realized I truly embody two distinctly different people. The sad and mourning me and the old fun me, who just wants to be normal. It feels like both sides are always there – it is a battle to see who and when the other will emerge.

It is maddening.

Sometimes I wonder how long I can keep the good face on before darkness descends and I start to cry. Sometimes I wonder who is going to win in the end. Sometimes I wonder if the two will just mesh together and we can find a happy medium.

It is painful to watch happy couples sometimes. I have a tendency to stop and stare at couples at the most random moments. Couples who I see at the park or at the market and I get a quick glimpse into their lives. I casually stare at them and watch as they interact. I see the love that comes through from one to the other. I miss being that. I miss thinking about my life with you. I miss talking to you about our children and what they will be like when they are older. I miss planning the future with you. I miss a million and one things about being married to you.

The other day at the pool I watched an older couple come in, settle down, and then look into each other’s eyes and just smile. Then they went off to play with their grandchild and I put my sun glasses on even though I was sitting in a shady spot. The tears rolled down my face as I looked at them and thought – I will never be them. My husband and I will never get to sit and appreciate our grandchildren together. We will never get to grow old with each other and never get to do anything together - ever again.

I miss being married to you. I long for that feeling of togetherness and specialness that I only had with you. I miss you so very much today and wish you knew how much I love you. I have started sleeping in your pajama top. It reminds me of you and I feel like you are giving me a big hug every night when I put it on.

Of course some nights I throw the shirt across the room and stomp up and down on it before I put it on.

But I still wear it every single night.

Locked Out

2010-07-26T18:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I walked by my old house and there was a padlock on the door. I tried not to dwell on what this meant. I ignored the lock and just kept going. Deep down though, I knew I would never walk through the empty house again. I pushed these thoughts away.

Until this afternoon when I drove by the house and saw a crew of guys cleaning it out – I almost crashed into a parked car as I just stared at my lost house. I pulled over and started sobbing. Then of course I got out and stood across the street hiding behind a tree – watching them.

Maybe this is one of the downfalls of living down the block. I knew this would happen – it just seems surreal to see it all unfold before me. I liked knowing that I could pop into the house sporadically and walk around pretending that I still lived there; pretending that you weren’t dead. But now I can’t. I stood there watching as these guys ripped all the flowers out of the front walkway and every time they pulled one out and threw it into a bag – my soul went with them. I stood there crying, just watching, until I forced myself to walk away.

Tonight after an early dinner I took the kids swimming. I really just wanted an excuse to go past the house again. I looked at it and was overcome by such anger and despair. I know I moved three months ago. I know that technically this isn’t my house anymore – but it was the only house I ever owned. The only place that truly felt like a home and the last place I lived in with you. So yeah – it is still my freaking house.

Someday soon I will have to watch some other family move into my house. I will be happy for them and then I will hate them forever. Not their fault of course – but I will.

I was complaining to my friends over the weekend that I am feeling stuck. I just want something to change – I didn’t mean this. I didn’t mean for the house to be taken away forever. I realize I am getting myself all worked up over something nostalgic. I can’t help it. I want my old life back and I want you back and the stupid house back. I want everything that has been taken away from me to go back to normal. I hate that this will never happen and there is nothing I can do about it.

It has been three months since we moved and I have yet to hang a single picture on the wall. I am stuck. I don’t want to hang anything on the walls because that means I am staying here, that I am not moving back home. But if I start decorating it means to me that I accept my new life and feel at home here. I don’t feel this way either. I don’t want to stay, I want to go home. But my home is now lost and taken over by strange evil men who don’t give a shit about the mint leaves I planted for years to come. So going home is out, hanging photos is out and now I am just stuck.

All I want is a glimpse into the future. I sit sometimes and wonder where I will be in five years – in three years, in one. Nine months ago I could have easily answered these questions – and now I just can’t see past tomorrow. I have no idea what the future holds and the not knowing is terrifying.

I realize at some point I am going to have to learn acceptance. Once I get past the sorrow grief pain and guilt of course. But I apparently have to learn to accept that this is my life now. It will probably happen without me even realizing it. Right now I accept the fact that I am still tripping over boxes of photos in the middle of my bedroom. Maybe when someone else moves into my house – that is when I will put photos up. When my reality is really smacking me across the face and I realize and accept that I am never going home.

Today it doesn’t just feel like I have been locked out of my house – it feels like I have been locked out of my life.

Doorbell

2010-07-22T18:27:00.000-07:00

I wonder sometimes how I can keep this blog going. I could write everyday, but I don’t. I could write everyday about how much I miss my husband. About how the children are changing everyday and you are missing so many little pieces of their life – too many to list or even think about. I could write about how I feel everyday and the sorrows and conflict I go through, but I don’t. Sometimes even I need a break from the way that I feel.

I could write about how I still have keys to my old house, and every once in a while I go back. I wander the empty rooms thinking about our old life. I think about how many memories were filled within these walls. Sometimes I just stand there and call out your name, just to see what will happen. My voice echoes in the emptiness and there is never a response. Never. I wonder sometimes why I still do it. Why I still try and cling to something from my past that causes me so much sorrow. Maybe because as difficult as it is, looking back is still easier than looking ahead – to a life clearly without you.

My daughter asked me tonight – again - where you died. Then she asked how did G-d reach you from heaven to bring you up there. Her questions seem so simple, yet they are so deep. Even at four, she doesn’t realize just how impossible her questions are to answer. I told her that you floated up to heaven when it was time for you to die. How? She asked. Like a balloon, I whispered and tried once again not to let my tears ruin the moment.

I try not to write everyday because rehashing these moments with my children or sitting down to think about how I feel, just doesn’t seem to help so much. When it does help, I will write. These days I am still feeling like a broken record. My thoughts and emotions have been unchanged for quite some time. I cry some days, some days I just feel sad. Some days the anger is too intense to put into words. Some days the guilt is just a blanket wrapped around me. Whatever it is that day – it doesn’t change too dramatically.

I look back sometimes and see how far I have come. Then I will look back and think I haven’t changed a bit. I am still mourning and grieving. I am still dealing with the first year of your death. I am not so naïve to think that on your year anniversary I will feel like a weight has been lifted from me. In fact, I think I will feel worse. I have decided that I am past getting through the stages of early grief. Now I am just leveling off and staying in place. Somewhere between awful distraught sadness anger longing and guilt and just simply sorrow.

This summer is moving faster than I would like. I am trying to keep the children occupied and give them a fun time each and everyday. It is exhausting. Just thinking about what to do with them each day is exhausting. I love them and don’t want them to feel like they are different than any other kids. Maybe I am trying to distract all of us from the fact that this is our first summer without daddy.

I had this feeling the other day that I wanted to rent a RV camper and drive the children across the country. To set out and have everyday be filled with new sights and new people and new adventures. Then I realized how I would have to do all the driving and I couldn’t really take that much time off from work. I guess in a way I just want to run away. But no matter what state we went to, no matter where we would go, we would still be the same people with the same problems and no amount of miles can take that away. Maybe I will wait and save this trip when the kids can share the driving – that should be fun.

I haven’t written about this in the past because I thought at first I was going crazy – now I just don’t care. I am pretty sure I am being haunted by my husband with a doorbell. Since I have moved into the new house a doorbell has rung in the middle of the night, around 3 am. It isn’t my usual doorbell sound – it is just a doorbell. I thought for a while I was dreaming as I would wake up and run to the door and no one would be there. Four months now and every so often I will wake in the night from a doorbell sound and run for a mysterious caller.

Last night at around 11pm the mysterious doorbell rang again. I was close to the door and able to open it right away, excited that I would be able to catch the person in the act. I threw open the door and no one was there. No one on my stoop, or down the street or anywhere. I actually rang my doorbell to confirm that I am really hearing two different sounds. I am.

So instead of getting totally freaked out, I am just going with the idea that my husband is saying hello. He knows we moved, he knows where to find us – and he is telling me he loves me. Maybe he wants me to stop haunting him in the old house and this is his way of telling me – or maybe I am just really going crazy.

Profound

2010-07-16T20:10:00.000-07:00

Wednesday night at therapy a woman said how it is just unbelievable how much profound sadness she feels each and every day. There was a collective sigh that went around the room and then I just started crying.

I feel this profound sadness as well, everyday, and most of the time I am suffering alone. There are times that I want to share my sadness with others, but I don’t. There are times I want to tell my children how much I miss their daddy, but I keep the words inside. Sometimes suffering alone is just the easiest way to get through the day.

There are moments when the children do something amazing and I want to tell them how proud their daddy would be. Sometimes I do say it, but more recently I hold back. The tears and sadness I cause them seem to take the joy out of their accomplishment. I feel like it’s selfish to do this to them.

The other day we got into the car to run an errand and in my sweetest voice possible I turned to them and said, “Hey guys – who wants to go to the cemetery?” My son asked if we would see daddy’s name. I said very enthusiastically, “Yes, want to go?” They both shook their heads and said no, not today. So I said O.K. Maybe another time – and off we went to buy groceries.

I wanted to go so badly and realized that going there is just not the same for them as it is for me. I feel this burning desire to go and feel his presence and they just don’t.

This morning I dropped them off at camp and went to the cemetery by myself. It hasn’t been that long since I have been to see my husband, maybe a month. But it feels like it has been a long time. When I got to the grave it looked so different. Grass, weeds and dandelions have started to grow over the dirt. Your grave is beginning to look like all the rest of the graves. It is starting to look like you have been dead for a long time – and yet it is not possible. You just died! In my heart you died today. How can flowers be growing already? It feels very wrong. Part of me wanted to rip all the green away and make the dirt look like new again. But I couldn’t do it, I was crying too hard.

I sat with you for a very long time. I didn’t really want to be there, but I didn’t want to go anywhere else. I am missing you and suffering your loss everyday and it seems this is just what I do now. I live this so called life and try and do my best for the children, all the while feeling your absence day in and day out.

Wednesday at therapy as we went around the room starting the introductions, I said that everyday feels like Groundhog’s day. Everyday I get up with the children and go and do and just fake it. I told the group that sometimes when I walk outside my house I feel like the word suicide is written in huge bold letters across my forehead. That when anyone looks at me, that is all they see. Another woman said she feels like that also, but when she comes to group she doesn’t see the words on anyone else’s face – so maybe it isn’t on hers either. This made me feel better – but not much.

I seem to feel worse at night after the children are in bed and I am trying to figure out what to do. Should I work, watch TV, fold laundry, read a book, or eat everything in the house? Sometimes I just wander around not committing to anything and realize I am trying to distract myself from the sadness. It is really difficult to do. When I do finally force myself to try and sleep, I turn off the light and then there is silence. There are no distractions and I struggle with myself – forcing my thoughts to go away. It feels like the guilt and sorrow are clawing at my face and just don’t want me to ever feel at peace.

I am amazed at the amount of profound sadness I feel all the time. I am amazed that I can be crying hysterically at your grave at 9:30 in the morning and then 8 hours later be in the park with my children, hanging out with my friends. I try to push the sad morning away. I try and appreciate the happy times that I have in my life. I really do. I smile and joke around and maybe no one sees the words on my forehead. Maybe an outsider wouldn’t look at me and see that I am damaged goods. But the sadness doesn’t go away for long, if at all. It lies just beneath the surface, always with me – profoundly.

Quicksand

2010-07-11T17:38:00.000-07:00

My grandmother told me life is all about survival of the fittest. She would know as she is almost ninety and has survived quite a bit in her long life. Her life is filled with stories of good times, sad times and everything in between. My life is one of her sad times. I think it pains her to see me struggling and she only wants the problems to go away – like yesterday. But of course, it doesn’t work that way.

I am sure my mother is expecting me to blog about her – as we have had a horrid few days together. I am going to try and not bash her and blame anything on her. But then again – this is my blog for me to vent and she doesn’t have to read it! My mom thinks she is giving me good advice. She thinks she is trying to save my children from a horrible childhood. She thinks she is protecting them and helping me. She thinks she is right – how can I tell her I disagree. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

My mother has never “gotten” me and I don’t think she ever will. My relationship with her feels like quicksand sometimes. She does or says something that makes me angry so I say something, then she says something, then I say something worse. Before I know it I am sinking into a pit of anger and despair only to have her look at me and say – you really should be on drugs that calm you – your anger is out of control.

She doesn’t understand that my anger comes out in its worst form around her. No one else criticizes me as much as her, but she calls it advice. I always react badly when she is telling me something I didn’t ask to hear. She thinks I am a terrible mother sometimes and am too harsh with the children. She thinks I don’t go to therapy enough. She thinks a lot of things about me that I just don’t want to hear. Maybe she is right, but the fact is that she doesn’t stop - ever. She says anything and everything about every little thing and I can’t deal with it. I couldn’t deal with it before suicide and I surely can’t deal with it now.

Sometimes I don’t care my husband is dead. Doesn’t that just sound so awful? I don’t care because what is done is done and I can’t undo a single thing. All that is left is this life I am struggling to live. To deal with the after effects of how suicide lives in my soul. How a dead daddy affects my children and how the rest of our lives will unfold. My relationship with everyone I know has suffered this year. I am sure I have lost friends these past nine months as I don’t call or want to see anyone. I am sure I have yelled and screamed and blew up at everyone in my family. I am sorry but my heart is broken – my husband is dead and my dreams are shattered – everything else just falls by the wayside.

I don’t care that my husband is dead until mail comes with his name on it – bills I have made a thousand calls to change the name. I don’t care that he is dead until the phone rings and someone is looking for him – or when I walk past our old house and think about how nothing is settled there either. I don’t care he is dead until my children are crying for him. Or when my daughter learns to ride a bike without training wheels and your son learns to dive into the water and you are no where to be found to share these trivial joys only a parent can appreciate.

Maybe I should just go back to crying day in and day out. Then everyone will remember what I am dealing with. Remember that every new day is a day without my husband. Every new day I think about the day he died and the awful look on his face. Every new day I think about dragging his lifeless body from the garage. If I am not crying and am not acting sad I am just asking for someone to judge me incorrectly.

My mother asked me – if everyone thinks one way and you think another – who do you think is wrong? I don’t know how to respond to this question. I am just trying to get through each new day and try not to look too far back because it is devastating and try not to look too far ahead because it is terrifying. What everyone thinks about me and how I act is not even on my very long list of things bothering me.

I can’t possibly justify my actions to anyone. All I know is that I am trying to do my best and yet it seems to never be enough. I would like to one day think that I am like my grandmother and that the survival of the fittest will prevail. These days I don’t feel that way about myself at all. Maybe I should look to my children for some courage, as they have much more than me.

My six year old son looked at me the other day and said – well, I guess we are just going to have to live the rest of our lives without daddy – survival of the fittest indeed!

Tragedy

2010-07-04T18:52:00.000-07:00

I am in a funk and not the fun Parliament seventies rock kind. I am just in a funk – maybe it is depression, but I don’t think so. Maybe I am just tired and hot and sweaty and lonely and bored and missing my husband and the life I was supposed to be living.

I feel like I am in a Shakespearean tragedy. I only say this because I was told this is what people are saying about me. Well not the Shakespeare part, but I am an English major after all so . . .

A friend who was trying to make me feel better said that her neighbor saw me the other day and said, “Is that woman with the two beautiful children the one who had that terrible tragedy?” I think I was supposed to hear that she complimented my children. Instead I just think - oh great, now I am a tragedy!

But I am not a tragedy! A tragedy is when a child dies or someone runs into a burning building to save another person and they die instead. My husband walking into a garage and never walking out – this is not a tragedy – this is just fucked up!

This morning the children woke me very early. I went into the kitchen to make coffee and then lay back down onto my bed while I waited for it to brew. Suddenly I was sitting at my kitchen table and you were sitting across from me. You were so young and handsome and I was starring at you like you were a ghost. You were telling me to stop complaining about my life and the kids and go live and appreciate my life. Go enjoy myself. When I tried to interrupt you, to tell you how difficult life has been for me, you put your hand up to halt my words and just smiled. You wouldn’t let me talk. I finally could look at you no longer. I put my hands in front of my face; put peeked at you through my fingers. You were just sitting at the table smiling at me with your young, vibrant and beautiful face and then I woke up.

Maybe this is the cause of my funk today. Because I don’t know if this was you visiting me from heaven and telling me to get my life together or my subconscious acting out. Either way I am disappointing us both.

I don’t think I will ever fall in love again. I don’t see myself ever marrying again or dating or anything like that. I just don’t see it at all. Maybe I am not supposed to see it now – but in my heart deep down – I never see it all. Yes, I joke with my friends about cute fireman and silly stuff. But I followed cute firemen around in Costco even when I was married. It was just fun – nothing seems fun anymore no matter how much I joke.

Then I look at my children and think how much they could use their father right now- any father right now and I think; well I will just disappoint them too.

Maybe I am a tragedy. How did I get to this point in my life where I am just lost and stumbling and trying to find my way? I am not supposed to be like this at 39. I am a mother and really should have so much more together than I do. I feel like I have disappointed my children, my family and really myself.

Quite possibly I am just feeling sorry for myself these days. I realize this is fruitless and doesn’t help at all. I don’t want to be viewed as tragic or any other negative terms. I just want my happy self back. I don’t really care about much these days – just my children. I want to give them a happy, love-filled life. I want to watch them laugh and smile and don’t want to disappoint them any longer.

Nine Months

2010-07-02T19:39:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is nine months you are dead. Nine long, dreary, tear-filled and overwhelming months. The only thoughts that linger in my mind these days are – I wish you were here.

My children and I are stuck at the moment. We are in between their school days ending and their camp time beginning. This has been the longest school year ever. I feel like my children should have graduated high school by now – not just pre-k and first grade. I have never been so happy to say goodbye to school – it has just really been a long hard school year.

But now summer is officially here and we are stuck. We wake up each day with no place we have to be. I am working from home while we are in limbo – and though this is convenient for a single mom, it is quite impossible too. I put them into bed each night and then get to work – spending hours upon hours working while they sleep. I have been up till 2 am almost every night. Then I wake with them each morning trying to keep my crankiness at bay while trying to find fun ways to entertain them.

Today was no exception. We woke up and though it was beautiful out, we went to the movies. Just for something to do. Then I took them swimming all afternoon and then after sheer exhaustion, took them out to the local diner for dinner. Somehow it doesn’t seem to matter how little or how much we do. The end of each day is always the same. We return to an empty home where I get them into bed, we pray to daddy in heaven and then it is just me all alone again – just me.

I am probably a little more melancholy this holiday weekend than most. Last year was a really great July 4th for all of us. We got a police escort (thanks to a friend) straight to the closest spot one can get to the NYC fireworks. It was a magical night for my husband and our children. We aren’t doing that this year and we really aren’t doing much of anything. My neighborhood is deserted with most people away or spending time with their family, because that is what people do. What we would be doing if you weren’t dead.

I sat in the diner tonight facing the window. I watched the couples walk by with their children. I knew all of them by name or face – it is the kind of hood I live in. I would have done anything to be them – just for a moment. To not know my pain and sorrow – to not feel so abandoned and destroyed. If only for a moment, I would have liked to walk in their shoes.

But I walk in mine – and then I looked across the table at my two monsters throwing french fries at each other and fighting over the half inch space on the seat they share – and realized - I wouldn’t trade them in for anything.

On the way home I met a woman who lives three doors down from me. I knew who she was and she knew me, but we have never spoken – not till tonight. She looked at my children and said, if you ever want to knock on my door and talk that would be nice. She is an elderly Jewish woman and looks like Dr. Ruth minus the accent. She said to me, we have something very terrible in common. I said yes, I know. Eleven years ago her husband sent her to the bank to make a deposit. When she came home she found he had shot himself dead.

She was talking about our situations and how terrible they were. I was pleading with her through my eyes to not say anything more specific. I was praying silently for her to not say the word suicide in front of my babies. She thankfully never said the word – but she said a lot more.

After eleven years I am still angry, she said. After eleven years I still think it was a waste and not necessary. He could have talked to me, she said. He didn’t have to do this. But you know this already, she said. She looked at the kids again and said, but you have it much worse than me.

I tried not to cry as I walked away with an extra super fake smile on my face. Honestly, I am just trying to get through tomorrow and then the next day. I can’t imagine anything more now. I would like to think that I could someday come to peace with all that has happened – but maybe I won’t. Maybe I am really asking just way too much.

Of course then at bedtime my six year old cried for you. I just miss daddy he said. Why did he have to die? Then he just cried and cried. He hasn’t cried in a long time. The pain fills up my heart and spills over into everything as I lie with him and feel his tears. This just doesn't get any easier.

So nine months later I still wish you were here. Your children miss you and so do I. I feel at times we have come so very far since the day you died and then I realize – we haven’t even taken a step.

2 am

2010-06-28T19:51:00.000-07:00

It is 2 am and my daughter has a fever of 104. I am freaking out, exhausted and freaking out some more. I know there are people out there I can call and won’t hate me at 2 am, like my mother, my sister and a handful of friends. It isn’t the same. I am holding back tears because I wish you were here to help me – or at the very least, here to tell me there is nothing to worry about. But you aren’t here and it makes the moment ten times worse – at least in my frazzled sleep deprived worrisome mind.

I give her more Tylenol and then get a cold compress to wash her down. She is in great spirits for such a high fever. She is talking and babbling away, about who knows what. I am just smiling and focusing on getting her fever down. I am not sure what she is saying until she says – “Mommy are you going to die before me or after me?” Really I am thinking - I can’t even begin to figure out how to answer this question – and did I mention it was now 2:30 am and I just want to cry.

I look at her and say I am not going to die for a very long time and you don’t need to worry about that right now – would you like some juice? If she were older I may not have gotten away with not really answering her question – but thank goodness she is only four and juice is golden.

Saturday I took the kids into the city to take your eldest son out to lunch at the diner. He is leaving soon and I don’t know how many times we will see him. I took him to the one place where we always went with you. It was nice. I didn’t feel like I could take him anywhere else and wasn’t really worried about you not being there. The kids love spending time with him and there is always so much chaos in a small diner. To be honest I didn’t get the chance to feel sad that you weren’t there. It may have been the nicest Saturday ever so far.

I sat across from all your children eating the meal you would have ordered and I just looked at our children. I am amazed at how much they have grown and changed since you have died. I wonder if you would even recognize them now. They are such different people from nine months ago. Partly worse, partly better but still quite different.

Our daughter still has a fever. It is going on day four. I am taking care of her all on my own. I am worrying about her and watching her and still you haven’t come through the door to help. Today at some point I stared at the coffee pot and was just stunned by your death – yet again. Somehow it still feels like it didn’t happen. Like this is all just some mistake. There are just moments that I really have a hard time really believing you actually took your own life.

I went to the supermarket with our sick child as we all still need groceries and to get more Tylenol. The deli lady saw me and came right over. Are you dating yet? she asked me. I laughed at her and said no. I truly find it funny that people expect me to bounce right back into what? – A normal life again. I am still thinking you are coming home to me – some how some way. The very idea of me dating just sounds like a bad joke.

People are still very kind to me and the children – generous, understanding and helpful. I am letting friends and family help me more – though it is hard. I have come to the conclusion that I really can’t do everything all by myself. I hate this and am frustrated by the concept of needing others. When once you and I were able to never have to ask for help. Maybe that was our problem – you and I should have asked for help sooner – maybe you would still be alive if you had just asked me.

I am hoping to not see the clock at 2 am today. I am hoping the fever goes away soon. Summer vacation starts today and you are not here to revel in the new chaos that is beginning.

But every day is a new adventure in our lives – some bad some pretty good. I am trying to rid myself of the guilt I feel when something makes me happy. Quite possibly I owe it to you to feel happy again – to feel that which you cannot. At the very least, I truly owe it our children.

POST

2010-06-23T18:39:00.000-07:00

Today was just an ordinary day in the life of me. It was hectic and busy, stressful and insane. I took my son to school and then dropped my daughter at a friend’s house for hours so I could get to work. I cried the whole way there. Typical me.

There are days that go by and nothing great and nothing horrible occurs. It is just a day. These seem to be getting easier for me. The days where there is a glitch in my plans, or schedules change or something breaks and I really need your help – these are the days I cry for you the most.

Then I feel truly guilty as it seems I only cry on days when I need you. I feel selfish and then cry even more. I try to get through the days not crying and just do what must get done. I just can’t possibly cry all the time – I did that already. Now I cry when I could use your help and I am wondering if you are up in heaven scowling at me for only crying then. When the children are behaving and the day is a good one, I don’t cry for you. Tears don’t bring you back. I figured this one out. So on good days, I try not to cry.

I drove to work frustrated that you weren’t around to help me. This end of school year, camp not yet started, still working everyday overwhelming time in my life is just hard. This is all hard for me and I am trying my best. After the frustration wore off I just cried because I really miss you. I really missed my best friend and father of my children today.

I have been so strong through all these graduations. Standing there with my head held high because I know that people are looking at me feeling bad for me. I know they are sad for my children and I just want to put on a good face. I did a miserable job at our daughter’s pre-k graduation.

All it took was for me to see one father carrying his daughter on his shoulders to the graduation ceremony and I couldn’t walk inside. The kids ran ahead, eager for the ceremony as I hid behind a car hysterical beyond belief, unable to catch my breath. It was just so terrible being there alone, I couldn’t take another step. My good friend found me and let me cry all over her beautiful dress and she didn’t have to say a word. She just let me cry and say this just isn’t right – he should be here today – it just isn’t right!

But I got past that day and got through Hebrew school graduation and am getting through everything else – how - I am just not sure. Because tonight ice cream is melting in the freezer and I can’t eat it fast enough. The refrigerator is broken and it may as well be the end of the world for me. I just don’t know what to do next and I am just lost – all day I have just felt lost without you.

All I want is you here tonight. Though you would of course be mad the fridge is shot you would be in all your glory eating every frozen thing in sight. But you are not here and so tomorrow I must navigate through what the heck to do when your fridge breaks and you haven’t a clue.

We have been in our new place for two months and it still doesn’t feel like home. Everything is here almost unpacked and yes we are settling in – but it doesn’t feel like home. I don’t feel you here – I don’t feel your presence here. I don’t see images of you anywhere. I guess a few months ago I wanted to be rid of ghosts but now I miss looking at a room and picturing you doing something there. It makes me sad that I just don’t feel you anymore.

The only teeny tiny piece of you I have left comes every single morning. It sounds strange, but true. When my husband and I moved from Manhattan to Queens we argued about what paper we would get delivered to the house. I wanted the Times, he wanted the Post. I bought the Times but rarely read it – he loved the Post. He won. I was kind of embarrassed at first as I think we are the only house in the hood that actually gets the Post delivered – everyone gets the Times. About a month after my husband died the Post called to say my subscription was up and would I like to renew. I didn’t even hesitate. I asked if they had a lifetime subscription.

Every morning I wake up, walk to my door and hug the paper tightly in my arms and think about you.

Messiah

2010-06-21T18:02:00.000-07:00

The weekend went pretty well despite yesterday. My son told me he knew it was Father’s Day, but he said it without tears. He did say this to me as he was running through the water park with a million other happy children. Death was the farthest thought from his mind. We were all so caught up in this new fun element – it was easy to forget what was going on outside in the world. I was pretty fine myself. Only the glimpse here and there of father’s doting on their children did my heart ache and my tears come.

There were so many distractions for all three of us; there wasn’t a lot of time to dwell on you being dead. My children were so doted on by their grandparents, aunts and uncles – they didn’t have a second to feel sad. I spent the day trying not to think about the day. Only once did I sit and look at photos of you and think about last year – until my mother scolded me for making myself miserable – thanks mom. I also called my father and father-in-law secretly, so my children wouldn’t hear me wish them a happy Father’s Day. To my step-father who we spent the vacation with, I hugged him and just whispered the words in his ears.

The only glitch in my weekend happened weeks before. My children attend Hebrew School and I have spoken often about how amazing they are and what a good influence the Rabbi and Rebbitzin have been on my entire family. I still love them, but sometimes, for me at least, religion can cause trouble.

About two weeks ago my children had a lesson which involved learning about the Messiah. My children were taught about what has to happen in the world for the Messiah to return. Apparently (mind you this is in the words of my children) everyone has to be really good and then heaven will close and all the dead people will return to Earth. They told me this as they returned home from Hebrew School one night. They didn’t say anything else – just this. I was worried about this new information. But when two weeks went by and nothing more was said, I thought they forget all about it.

Then on Friday we drove to the Poconos with my sister. As we sat on the highway stuck in horrid traffic my children started telling my sister all about the Messiah. “Did you know”, they said, “when the Messiah comes heaven will close and daddy will come back to us.” I sucked in my breath, gripped the wheel and kept on driving. My sister just looked at me with shock and dread in her eyes. I just shook my head at her and neither of us said anything. I was trying to come up with something to say – but even after four hours in the car - I had nothing.

Thankfully I distracted them by pointing at road kill and we talked about how gross it was. But it seemed that all weekend, whenever they got the chance, they talked about when the Messiah comes they will see daddy. As if this event was right around the corner. I guess I should have seen this coming. Of course the children are going to think this after being told the story of the Messiah. For eight and half months we have all been telling them that daddy is gone and he is never coming back. Now it seems they have a found a loop-hole in the system and they are not giving up on this theory no matter what.

At some point over the weekend I looked at them very seriously and very sadly and said, “it would be wonderful if the Messiah could come. But we will not see this happen in our lifetime – daddy is not coming back.” I waited for tears. Instead they both looked at me and said, “No mommy, you are wrong” and just walked away.

My good friend, who also sends her children to Hebrew School immediately called the Rebbitzin after I sent her a desperate text. The Rebbitzin agreed to meet with the children tomorrow before their graduation to clarify the story and help them understand a little bit about what she told them. She said she is going to tell them how G-d needs daddy with him and how important it is for daddy and G-d to be together. I am not sure this is going to work. Hopefully they will listen to her better than me. I just pray they are not disappointed all over again.

I am really not upset or angry at anyone about this. In fact, maybe it is better to be harsh now in the early stages and not let them dwell for years and years living with the hope that he may return. It feels mean to deny them this fantasy – but I think it is unhealthy to let them life their entire lives waiting for something that is really never going to occur. Maybe I am a bad Jew, but for me right now, mommy with dead daddy trumps religion.

I am sure tomorrow will be a hard and sad day. But tonight I am just laughing to myself. I am sending the children to day camp in a few weeks run by a Catholic School. There is absolutely no religious instruction at all – but still they will be hanging out with plenty of children who do attend Catholic School. G-d only knows what new theories of daddy’s return they will come up with then. Wait till someone tells them how Jesus came back.

Heaven help me.

Flat Tire

2010-06-16T18:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I woke up and found a dead cat on the back porch. It was half eaten. I totally freaked out as if I had stumbled across a crime scene. Apparently my post traumatic stress is still in full force as a dead cat sends me screaming in the opposite direction. I called a friend who said she would take care of it. I was so upset she had to do this and that you weren’t here to help. But then I started to laugh. You and I would have had to call her anyway as I know you, and there is no way you would have touched a dead cat either!

I went to the cemetery to laugh with you about the dead cat and wish you a happy Father’s Day. Funny stories are not so funny when I can’t hear your voice. I stood next to your grave in the early morning sun thinking about all the sweet and wonderful moments you are missing over the next few weeks. I started crying and got myself all worked up. I left shortly after. Your grave just seems to upset me more and more these days. It is not as peaceful as it once was; it is not as helpful as it once was. I worry that once the children are home for the summer I will not have many opportunities to visit you. Maybe this is for the best. Maybe come the Fall I will reevaluate my need to visit you quite so often.

I have been holding back so much of my sorrow this week. I have been feeling my mind wander and take me back to the day you died and have tried very hard to stop it before I truly get totally sucked back in. Some days I am successful – some days - not so much.

I have been avoiding thinking about tomorrow. But tomorrows seem to come whether I am ready or not. You are missing your daughter graduate from Pre-K. Your baby is almost a Kindergartner and it breaks my heart that you won’t be there. She will be the only child with no daddy to get that look or that smile that only a father can give his daughter. This hurts most of all. I will try very hard not to completely lose my cool. I am keeping my son home from school so he can attend with me. I won’t feel so alone and his presence will keep me from hysteria. I hope.

You have already missed your son’s final first grade performance, and soon enough you will miss their Hebrew school gradation. I had our daughter’s baby naming last Saturday (four and half years late) but I finally did it and you weren’t there. It is really hard to fully enjoy these moments, these tiny milestones without you by my side. Now everything I do - I must do alone. I try not to dwell on this but it seems impossible. You are just not here and instead of being full of smiles I simply try and hold back tears.

Today as I was rushing from school to swimming class the car started to make a strange noise and get a bumpy feeling. I pulled over to the side of a dangerous road and looked out the window at the back tire. Flat. I sat for a moment in utter panic. The first person I would normally call is dead. I decided to just put that thought away as it is not helpful now. I called my roadside assistance. An hour later they sent someone.

I sat in the car with the two kids bouncing around and driving me bonkers and thought of you. Mostly because we got stuck down the road from the Entenmanns’ outlet. A place you and I banned ourselves due to the amount of damage we have done there. I started to cry and then reprimanded myself. I am not on the George Washington Bridge. I am not rushing to pick up the children. We are all together and the worse thing right now is that we will miss swimming. This is so minor in the grand scheme of things. It is just a tire – not a death I kept saying as I stared at the cookie palace with tears in my eyes.

We got home hours later and I threw everyone into bed fast and furiously. As they were putting on their pajamas, I remembered I needed to plug in the video camera for tomorrow. I went to check the tape to see what was on it and WHAM! There you are on the screen and I drop the camera on the table as if it were on fire.

I am trying to deal with so much that life throws at me; dead cats, flat tires and just being a single mom – but your face on video - seeing you holding your kids and smiling and waving as if I could reach through the screen and hug you - this is just too much for me to take.

Everything I worked so hard on this week – all the sadness I have been pushing away came crashing down on me seeing you unannounced on video. I crumbled. The tears pour out of me and I am sobbing as if you just died. Everything terrible comes back to me; my protective seal is shattered within seconds of seeing your face.

I miss you so much and hate that you are gone. I am sorry I failed you and sorry you failed our children. I am trying to be strong for our babies – not because I feel like being strong. I don’t think I will bring the video camera tomorrow – because the truth is – I am just not that strong – not yet.

Waiting

2010-06-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

Father’s Day is fast approaching and there is not one single thing I can do about it. This is painful and annoying.

I am taking the children away for the weekend to spend with family. It doesn’t matter. I could take them to the North Pole and it wouldn’t be far enough. I am running away from the neighborhood but no matter where we go – I am still me, the children are the same and there will still be no daddy.

This might be the worst day of the year for us forever. Any other day or any other holiday I can distract the children with something, anything. I can give them presents or cake and hope they will forget, for the moment, that you are dead.

But Father’s Day – there is nothing I can do or say. This is the one day that is all about you – their father – there is no way to get around you being dead this year. Cake is just not going to save me this time – not even a little. This may be the first Father’s Day we have to get through – but this holiday comes every year. I don’t think we will be able to run away every year. Though it sounds appealing. Part of me wants to face the day head on and just deal with the tears and anger or whatever emotions come our way. Another part of me wants to just cry and hide and pretend like this is not happening.

I had therapy on Wednesday and it was maybe the best meeting I have ever had. It was a small group. Although originally I was nervous and worried that with so few people there was no way to hide. In the end, this intimate setting with people who know my story was truly helpful. It reminded me that I need to be in therapy no matter how many good days I have. It reminded me that the rest of the world just doesn’t get me or my pain. Simply the very idea of walking into a room and not having to explain so much of what I go through everyday – is so very helpful all on its own. The way I see it, the rest of the world should stop trying to solve every one of my problems. Instead they should all just count their blessings that they have no idea what it truly feels like to be me.

Over the course of eight months several people I would call acquaintances have confided some of their most painful and awful secrets to me. Maybe they feel like because they know the worst skeleton in my closet they feel more comfortable confiding in me. I don’t know. It humbles me when people choose to share such intimate details with me and I listen and let them talk. Maybe they don’t have many people to share with. Maybe they feel bad for me and want me to know I am not alone in feeling pain in this life.

Yesterday a woman I know sat down beside me in the park and while our children played she told me her suicide story. Her father killed himself when she was 21. We talked about all the guilt and the pain you feel and it was terrible to hear and yet comforting. She is now happily married to a great man and is a wonderful mother. It gave me hope for my children. I asked about her mother and how she dealt with it. Her mom didn’t go to therapy, never remarried and never got over the guilt. Unfortunately, I understood everything her mother went through.

The thing about dealing with death by suicide is that it is just not like any other death. Everyone tells me stories about woman who lost their husbands at a young age, with small children and then they remarried and still had wonderful lives. How did their husband’s die? I will ask. If the reason isn’t suicide I am no longer interested in the rest of the story. Death by natural causes or some terrible accident is of course tragic – but it is not the same to me. I can’t explain it. You just have to be me to understand what I must deal with day after day after awful day; the guilt and sorrow and questions without answers and sadness. Not every death is the same is the same to me anymore.

I have been trying very hard not to think about you this week. I have been trying very hard to focus on my children and myself and deal with my own madness. I have moments where I will laugh and smile and think I am going to someday be O.K. Then I have moments, like today, sitting in the park under a tree looking into the blue sky and my heart is aching for you. I miss you and I hate you and I love you and I am angry and I am sad and I feel terrible awful guilt and I miss you and hate you and love you some more and possibly only thirty seconds went by. This is how I feel most of the time.

So I am waiting for the worst day ever to arrive with anxious stressful anticipation. How will I feel when my children look at me on the day everyone is spending with their daddy and you are dead? How will I feel when they look at me with longing and sad eyes and I have to make them feel better when there is no possible way?

Maybe next year we will go to the cemetery on Father’s Day. Maybe instead of running away we will visit you, but I will definitely bring a huge chocolate cake. Just in case.

Complaining

2010-06-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

Anything out of my mouth tonight will just be complaining. It has been a rotten day and my husband is dead so I have no one to complain to. Therefore I am forced to write a blog to hopefully feel better. Good luck to me.

The day started with my cell phone ringing at work and some person looking for my dead husband. Really – what is wrong with everyone? Eight months later and you still call for him – did you not get my million phone calls? Do you not read my blog? WTF!

Then the calls just kept coming. Each and every one of them contained different bad news. My children’s Hebrew school burnt down. The amazing family, who has taken my kids under their wings, protected them, who was the Rabbi at my husband’s funeral are all condemned out of their house and with nothing. I am devastated for them and their children. I am only thankful that no one got hurt.

I cried after I heard the news – it is not fair. The horrible things that happened to wonderful people.

Forgot all the other phone calls – I am just pushing it all away. I can only deal with one crisis at a time – everyone else who has it in for me can take a number.

Then I got home and opened the mail. Still most of it has my dead husband’s name on it – just great. Then there was a letter from school. My daughter got into the kindergarten program I was praying for. I was so excited and picked up my phone and didn’t know what to do. All I wanted was to call and tell you this amazing and exciting news. All I wanted was to share this moment with her daddy – but you are freaking dead – so I couldn’t.

Instead I sent a text to my family and friends and tried not to think about you.

Then the second half of an already crazy day begins as the children are home from school. Your precious daughter – your sweet lovable daughter is an absolute nightmare – no doubt about it. She pushes me to the brink of insanity day after day after day.

After hours of crying and screaming and teasing her brother - I finally took her dinner away, put her into bed fully dressed and told her to cry and scream I wasn’t going back in and go to sleep.

She cried, she screamed, she howled forever. Then she started crying for you. I want my daddy! I want my daddy! Over and over and over until I was sobbing beyond belief as I sat outside her door – feeling horrible, helpless and so very very alone. I did go back. I know I should not have - but I did. I held her in my arms and let her cry for you till she passed out. All I kept thinking is that is should have been you comforting her – not me!

I know I should not complain. This life I lead is not as horrible as some – and yet all I want to do today is cry and scream – just like my four year old. It was not one bad thing that occurred today - it was just a lot of little things that grate on my already on the edge existence. My emotions are wrapped in shards of glass and they scrape and hurt me if one single thing goes totally off kilter.

I am a mess today and it is not even your fault – not really.

I think I may have to go visit you this week. I just need some alone time and miss throwing rocks at you. At the very least I can show you the letter our daughter got – maybe it will make me feel better.

Eight Months

2010-06-04T18:13:00.000-07:00

Nothing amazing has happened this week. Nothing terrible, nothing wonderful. Just life. Yet everyday this week I thought about Saturday. How tomorrow marks eight months that you are dead and gone. It seems impossible once again that I have spent this much time apart from you.

This has been a tough week, though there have been worse. It is just difficult navigating through the week with two children who lead busy lives. My life is no more difficult than most people I know. Many of my friends have husbands who work odd hours or late nights – so I am not alone in my mom does it all life.

But then I will get home after a very busy day, and get dinner, homework and the bathing done. I will tuck the kids into bed and then walk out of their room and sigh. It is just me – all alone. Sometimes friends call me at night to just talk. It used to be to make sure I wasn’t going insane – now the routine is to probably keep in touch with my daily goings on and to keep me from feeling not so alone. Some nights no one calls. Then I will sit outside and stare into the night sky wondering where you are.

This week I missed you but during random times. I missed you when I couldn’t get the window to close. I missed you when I needed help with the kids. I missed you when our son wrote me a letter saying I am the meanest mom in the entire world and I didn’t know what to do. I miss you the most when it comes to dealing with the children.

There are times when raising the two of them seems like an impossible task. That I am doing a truly horrible job and only yell and scream at them. I miss you being here to intervene for all of us. Even if you always got to be the good guy – I miss your presence and your ability to calm me down and talk some sense into me. I miss that you aren’t here at all.

I wonder sometimes if you are truly watching me from heaven and if you are shaking your head at some of the stuff going on. I wonder if you feel bad for me or think I deserve all this insanity.

I am sorry that I said I hate you last weekend. I don’t hate you at all. In fact, I miss you terribly and still love you very much – despite the awful terrible thing you have done to my life.

I yelled at a woman the other day in Costco. I was changing the address and asked her to take your name off the account. Well she said, that name is the primary account holder. I looked at her and said, well he is dead! I totally shocked her and she looked down and mumbled sorry and took your name off right away. I wondered later if I sounded callous. If my just announcing that you are dead without tears sounded terrible to a stranger.

After eight months it still just feels like something I say – not something I feel or believe. Maybe I find it easy to say you are dead because it still feels like something that just did not happen to me.

But it did. Tomorrow will be another busy crazy filled with lots of drama and stuff day. It will be eight months that you are dead and that will be my day.

Different

2010-06-01T07:42:00.000-07:00

Something is different and I don’t know what it is. I don’t feel anger or sadness today. I don’t feel numb. I don’t know what I feel. It is not acceptance, as I don’t think I will ever accept what you did. It is just that I woke up this morning used to my life.

I have come to terms that it is just me getting everyone ready for school and me off to work. I am used to the fact that it is just me for the rest of the day. I spent the weekend running around with the kids making sure they had fun and I was used to the realization that it was just me.

I miss you but I can’t go on this way anymore. I can’t lie in bed at night saying your name over and over, hoping somehow it will trigger a dream that you will be in. I can’t sit in the cemetery week after week looking for ghosts.

Maybe because I have read over my last two blogs and I dislike what I read. I don’t want to be filled with guilt and hate. These are not qualities I find appealing or productive. I don’t think my heart will ever recover from losing you – but my head is yelling at me to stop the torture.

I have two beautiful children to worry about. A wonderful family and a million friends who care for me. I need to focus on the good in my life and not the misery and suffering I have been feeling. I don’t know how to do this exactly, but I am trying to push away the bad thoughts. Label them in my mind, put them in a box and just try not to remember where they are stored.

Nothing good can come from me reliving your death every day. Nothing good can come from asking myself “what if” over and over. I have to look at the right now and realize that despite my loss, I have a lot to be thankful for.

I took the kids strawberry picking this weekend. Of course I got lost. As we were driving around, who knows where, the kids asked me when we would get there. I said I don’t know I am lost. My son asked me why I was lost. I looked in the rear view mirror and said, because daddy always did the driving and now it is just me and I am trying just to find our way. The kids actually laughed at my ineptness. Then I laughed too.

Maybe this is just the rest of our lives – me driving the kids through life trying to find the right road and hoping at some point we do get there.

I am used to the children saying things like, too bad daddy is dead he loved strawberries or too bad daddy is dead he would have liked my pretty dress. These comments hurt my heart, but not as much as they once did. Maybe I am jaded or maybe I am just accepting that we are always going to talk about you – it is simply going to be in the past tense from now on.

I still want to take my kids to therapy. I think that they need to meet other children just like them. I still think they are scarred in some awful way and only hope that someday we can open out hearts again and embrace the love we lost.

I will still go to therapy as I don’t think I am anywhere near being healed. I am still going to cry, but maybe not everyday. I will still frequent the cemetery, but maybe not every week. I will still miss you everyday, but maybe without anger, guilt or hate. Quite possibly the gaping hole that was once my heart is starting to scab a bit. Or quite possibly I don’t want to walk around anymore with my insides oozing for all to see.

I am not sure why I feel the way I do today. Why I feel like something is different. Maybe tomorrow will be a terrible day and I will be back here agonizing over something trivial. Then again maybe I won’t.

Hate

2010-05-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

Three separate times this week all three of your children spoke the same words. “It is not fair that you are dead.”

How – how do I possibly work around this impossible situation you dumped in my lap and your ex-wife? How do either of us figure out how to save our children from the selfish stupid idiotic really upsetting and terrible thing you have done to your children?

I am so angry with you right now I want to scream. I want to run to the cemetery and chuck your stone as far as I can throw it. I want to see you so I can yell at you face to face. I am livid. Mostly because I feel helpless and so sad and frustrated. Forget about me – I am done feeling sorry for me. But your children are going to feel your absence forever – and this is just one minute too long.

You had three children who only worshipped the ground you walked on on. Who lived for your smile, love, hugs and kisses - and you killed yourself. How dare you do such a thing to them! How dare you ruin such perfect innocent children!

How could you taint their little hearts with a sadness most people never know? How could you - you selfish jerk.

Yesterday I started a blog, (but didn’t finish) about how much I was going to miss you this weekend. How this long weekend was so family oriented and how I remember last year so well and how much fun we had.

F*ck that blog.

I don’t care anymore about how great last year was. I hate you and hate what you did to us. Hate with a passion coursing through my veins so strong right now about what you did to my children and my step–son. It is awful how bad I feel right now that I am typing and crying and punching down the keys so hard to get these words out that I am bound to break them.

It doesn’t matter that kids are resilient and it doesn’t matter that time will help them heal. Your eldest son is old enough to feel the pain that I feel. To truly understand what you did. To feel the sorrow and maybe the guilt and have all the unanswered questions we adults must live with. At nineteen he should be looking forward to a wonderful life ahead of him – but now he is devastated by your loss and I am reeling with hate.

Your younger children are too young to understand anything but your absence. This is enough terribleness for such small ones. Someday they will know the truth of your actions. I only hope the anger inside me has subsided before I must face that moment. Becasue I don't want them to remember you with anger - only love.

Your children will never have a father for the rest of their lives. How did you think they would be better off? How could you walk away from them? I just don’t know. It almost doesn’t matter why anymore. The fact is that you did it – you killed yourself and the rest isn’t your problem any more. Thanks so much.

Nothing you deemed bad in your life was worth this. Not one single problem you had was worth leaving three wonderful children without a father – forever.

Today I hate you - I really do.

Guilt

2010-05-26T17:51:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking quite a bit about my life lately. I have figured one thing out. Besides post traumatic stress and blah blah blah that I suffer from – I have one enormous problem – guilt.

Guilt is what keeps me up at night and haunts my dreams when I finally fall asleep. Guilt is what makes me stop moments after I start singing along to a song. Guilt is what makes me weep at any given moment in the day and guilt is the driving force to my constant misery.

Do I think I drove my husband to suicide? No. But I certainly feel like I was in the passenger seat.

Now I could go to a million therapists and talk to my family and friends and they will all tell me the same thing. My husband made his own decision that awful day. It was his choice, not mine – I have nothing to feel guilty about. You can all tell me this till you are blue in the face. The fact remains that only one person can alleviate this guilt from me and he is dead.

I have gone over the last few years in my head, the last few months and even the last few minutes I had with my husband. There were things he said to me, that in light of his death, now make me wonder. What if he had never met me, or if we had never made certain decisions together, would he still be alive? What if the financial pressures of having a second family or me leaving the restaurant to raise our children or buying our house was too much for him - this is partly my fault.

I wish I could talk to him for just five minutes. Ask him a few questions that agonizes my soul. Maybe I am just looking for an easy way out. Maybe I am just scared to look even deeper into my heart and see that part of his death is my fault.

There are reasons he killed himself that are unknown to me - but the reasons I know or suspect – these are the thoughts that haunt me daily.

I cannot move forward with my life feeling this way. I cannot escape the blame and guilt I feel and have felt for over seven months. It is sad, but true.

I have lived through a million emotions over the course of his suicide. I have dealt with the shock and anger the sadness and despair and even more anger. Some how time and raising my two children have either washed these emotions away or they just got pushed out of my head for lack of time to truly deal with them. But the guilt is not going anywhere any time soon. It has been with me since day one and I feel will be with me forever.

Do I just have to learn to live feeling awful and guilty? Do I eventually just learn to accept feeling guilty and move on? It feels wrong to ignore the guilt and even worse to keep it in my pocket everyday. I feel like these guilty feelings will forever taint my outlook on life and just keep me face to the ground, unable to look upward with any kind of hope for a happy future. This is a terrible way to feel and I don't want to be like this. But I feel guilty, feel terrible and responsible and wish I could somehow make me not feel this way.

But for now I must take sleeping pills to keep the demons away, visit the cemetery once a week and cry whenever the tears come – the guilt has left me no other choice.

Couples

2010-05-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was fine. I spent maybe five minutes at home. The rest of the time I was outside enjoying the beautiful day with my children and friends. I knew it was Saturday and I just ignored it. Today I can’t stop crying.

I don’t know what is wrong with me today. I just can’t shake the tears or the sadness. Today I miss you so much it hurts. I miss everything I lost when you died – I miss you so very very much.

Friday I went to the cemetery and it did not help. Maybe it is the presence of your stone. I used to be able to go and pretend I was somewhere else. Outside alone in nature and I could talk to you and it was peaceful. I can’t ignore what is right in front of me any longer. The headstone with your name shouting out to me makes ignoring your death impossible. It is hard to sit there now and talk to you like I once did. It is hard not to see the photo your children left or the little stones they placed everywhere. Everything is different now.

I didn’t stay long on Friday. I didn’t cry and didn’t even talk to you. I just stared at the stone waiting for the tears and waiting for the release of the tension and anxiety that comes after the sobbing. Nothing happened and I left feeling unsettled even more. Maybe this means I go too often. Maybe this means I am never going to find you. After seven and half months I have still not found a trace of you anywhere.

All weekend I have watched couples, well stared at them, while remembering you. Looking at them and trying to figure out where we went wrong. Looking at them and wising you were by my side. Every time a husband took his wife’s hand or put an arm around her shoulder I felt awful, empty and sad. I couldn’t get the feeling to go away.

Today I was at a birthday party and I was miserable. Miserable for being miserable and for always being the sad girl. Tired of people looking at me and thinking, “There is that sad girl”. But I could not find the energy to walk over to people to make small talk and no one approached me. I couldn’t find my fake smile anywhere and after a while I didn’t even care. I just stood off to the side, wringing my hands, pretending like I was watching my children play, when really I was watching all the couples.

My children cried tonight as well. They miss their father so much and it just feels awful. Maybe it feels worse today because yesterday was such a lovely day. There were no tears and no drama and we all just had a nice day. Today your four year old cried in bed because she just misses her daddy. She asked me if she would see you when she dies and the bile in my throat rises when she asks questions like this. Your son is more matter of fact – I do not want to hear the words daddy and death he says. It makes me think about my daddy and it makes me sad.

I can’t undo what is done and I can’t make anything better. I am no better than them. I may be able to say the words daddy and dying in the same sentence but when I look at a husband and wife walking away from a birthday party with their child - I fall apart.

Nothing seems to be working this weekend in making me feel better. Not a beautiful day outside, a trip to the cemetery or even writing this blog. Maybe Monday will come and I will be too busy working, cooking, driving around getting the kids and doing whatever else I do that I just won’t have any time to remember how miserable I am.

A part of me just wants to stay in bed and cry. But that is so not me and I hear it doesn’t work anyway.

Blank Pages

2010-05-20T18:35:00.000-07:00

This morning when I stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed I was immediately transported into the garage. It was uncontrollable. I closed my eyes as the water sprayed me and I was looking at your body lying on the ground and reliving your final moments. I tried to push past these thoughts and back to reality but I couldn’t. I had to ride the wave of emotions that crashed around me as I wondered why it never occurred to me to check your pulse.

I was trying to catch my breath and as the tears poured down my face the children stormed in arguing about nothing. Suddenly I was right back in my bathroom, trying to shower in five seconds while two sleepy kids demanded all my attention, regardless that I was covered in soap.

So begins another day in the life of me. It has not been a great week. I am tired and irritable and the children are being their usual good selves littered with moments of absolute horror. I am tired – really tired. I am on sleeping pills and still tired. I am having nightmares but am not remembering them.

I am worried about the future. It leaves me feeling unsettled and unsure. I have dealt with so much over the past seven months and all this drama has conveniently distracted me from the bigger picture – my future.

Once not long ago I was married living in my cute house with my perfect children and I felt like my story was written. I knew where I would be in five years, ten years. I knew what direction life was taking me in.

Now when I try and look ahead at my future I just see blank pages. I don’t know what is coming next. I don’t know what it is I am supposed to be doing and how to even figure it all out. All I know is my children and so I work on figuring out their future. Mine is such a catastrophe it is like staring into the sun – just too much to look at all at once.

I think about my children everyday and how to make their lives better and sweeter and more fun. I try and fill their blank pages with wonderful adventures. Then in the middle of no where and doing nothing my son will look at me and say, “It isn’t fair. I only got to see daddy for six years!” Then I feel crushed like all my hard work is for nothing – but still I push forward. Somehow we are all supposed to go and live our life, act normal, smile and just move on. Even though on the inside we are all feeling tortured – especially me.

My family and friends are always telling me that life or G-d just has a different plan for me than the one I first thought. That someday I will be happy again and someday I will have a new plan that fills my blank pages.

It is not that I doubt them. It is just too difficult to see anything but what is right in front of me. I am so consumed with my day to day life that I find it impossible to plan anything. I am going to ignore the future for the time being. Ignoring my problems seems like the right thing to do.

Acutally, I am just going to focus on the possibility that tomorrow I get a shower without interruptions from children or demons.

So Now What?

2010-05-17T17:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a beautiful day. The sun was shinning and the world was blooming with colors. Yesterday I took my children to the cemetery to see their father’s headstone.

I have such mixed emotions about yesterday I am not sure where to begin.

I had been dreading the day for weeks and weeks. I pictured my children standing over their father’s grave sobbing uncontrollably and me looking on helpless as the world fell apart around me. This didn’t happen.

The morning was not solemn at all. It began with my children looking at a photo album searching for the perfect picture to leave for daddy. This took my breath away, but I put on my super fake smile and we were off. As small as I wanted this gathering – basically just me - was not what I got. I told everyone not to come. Everyone. Some of my family listened, some did not. I think by telling everyone not to come was my way of just not wanting it to be real. But taking your children to their dead daddy’s grave is about as real as it gets.

My sister brought her three small children. Though it pained me to have them visit a cemetery, it was truly a blessing. The children ran around and chased each other as we walked to the grave. A walk I have done a thousand times, but not like this. We stood next to the grave and the children sat on the earth above his body. My son traced the lines of his father’s name and the words adoring father with his fingers while the prayers were said. I said something but I don’t remember what it was. I just know I was looking into the eyes of my children and they were not crying.

All the children lined up little rocks around the stone decorating it. My babies took their photo and buried it in the dirt so it wouldn’t blow away. It was such a beautiful sight and so awful all in one breath. I was dreading sharing my special space with anyone and here they were acting so precious with their dead father just feet away. My step son looked sad and the rest of the family just watched as the children took stone after stone and seemed to never want to stop.

My son didn’t want to leave. He asked if we could come back once a week. I said that was too often. We agreed on once a month. Then just like that it was over. We left the cemetery and came home to eat like all good Jews do.

When the family left for their homes and it was just me and the kids I cried. I stood in the bathroom sobbing over this awful morning. Then I packed up some stuff and took us to the park.

They played all day with their friends like it was just another Sunday. They never brought up the morning and rather than psychoanalyze their every move – I just let them go be kids. The friends who knew where I was brought me rum sizzle drinks and beer and whatever else they had to keep my smile going.

It was at some point yesterday that I looked around and thought, so now what? Everything I must do for my husband is done. Now what? Now I am supposed to just live my life like I have been but without him. Now I am supposed to just raise my family and go to work and act normal? Now what? This is all I kept asking myself.

I spent the afternoon in the park watching other fathers teach my son how to play baseball and push my daughter on the swings. It felt like a knife slicing through me to witness this. I am grateful for the people in my life who care so very much for us and I am so angry at the man who left all this behind.

So now what?

Perspective

2010-05-13T17:06:00.000-07:00

If you ask me how I am doing, I will tell you I am fine. Maybe even OK. If I ask myself this question – I will answer that I am a total mess. I may act fine and look fine, but under the surface I am truly a mess.

I go to the cemetery once a week to scream, cry and throw rocks. I cry myself to sleep. I lose my temper and hit my pillow quite often. Most songs make me think about my dead husband and my favorite television shows still bring me no joy. I turn everything into a joke – because it is just easier for me. I still cannot sleep without drugs.

I have difficulty making normal conversations with people and am most content to hide from the world. I only make phone calls that I have to and truly only leave the house because I have children and have to go to work.

I always feel like I am one step away from falling apart. I should get an academy award for how I act in public. I don’t think anything has changed deep down inside me over the past seven months.

Then I went to group therapy last night and my whole perspective changed.

I sat across from a new comer and this person told the group that their spouse killed themselves one week ago. I couldn’t breathe. I was in awe that this person came to therapy and was even dressed. Then I was devastated all over again for the loss. Theirs and mine.

This person spoke a little, but everything said so mirrored my story I was stunned. I sat and starred at this person, who must have thought I was crazy. But I couldn’t help it. I was transported back seven months and felt like I was reliving the shock and pain and confusion and the plethora of emotions I felt from the very first day. I just remember the numbness and then the pain slowly edging its way into my soul until it threaten to suffocate. I was truly horrified that someone sitting a few feet from me was going through this. I just wanted to save them.

In my own way I wanted to heal their pain. I had become what others were to me – looking for some way to put a band aid over the gaping open wound and I felt ridiculous feeling this. There was nothing I could do and I felt a little how others must have and maybe still do feel about me. Helpless.

All I could do was talk about my journey and hope that if nothing else – this person didn’t feel so alone. But nothing, nothing I could say would make it OK, would ever make it better. Not for this person and not for me. Seven months ago I just wanted someone to lie to me and tell me everything was going to be fine. But no one can.

Nothing makes these awful feeling go away and nothing makes the memories of finding the dead body of your loved one ever feel anything but truly horrible. Maybe memories fade, but some don’t. The ones you can’t run from or hide from – these have not faded over seven months and I wonder if they ever will.

On the train home leaving therapy I was so upset with myself for even talking. How could I possibly know more than anyone else? How could I possibly be so arrogant as to try and help someone else through their pain, when I am still a mess? When I practically live on the edge of falling apart daily.

Then I began to ponder about myself. I am seven months into my grieving. If I ask myself if I have grown or changed or gotten stronger, my initial response would be not at all. But if I look back to the person I was after the first week – then I have to say truthfully that I don’t know who that girl was. I am not her anymore. I am not a zombie walking and talking without feeling. I am no longer shocked by his death and I am not numb.

I am not sure who I am anymore. Maybe I change a little every day. I am for sure not the girl I once was before my husband died. I am not even the girl who started this blog seven months ago. Maybe I am still searching for who I will become.

For now, I am still a mess, but at the very least I accept that this is who I am.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T17:21:00.000-07:00

I have not cried all weekend. Yesterday was seven months you are dead and today is Mother’s Day. One would think I would have only been crying this weekend. But I haven’t. I don’t know why I am not sobbing uncontrollably, as I truly have plenty of reasons. The tears are just not here.

Last night, instead of sitting home dwelling on the length of time you have been dead, I went to a party. Did I feel terribly guilty? Very much so. But I got a baby sitter for my children, put on a pretty dress and went anyway. Did I have fun? I am not sure. I was with all of my friends and their husbands. I enjoyed my time out of my normal routine, I enjoyed being with my friends. Maybe I did have fun and just didn’t know it.

I tried not to think about how much I wish you were with me. I tried not to think about how much food you would have eaten last night. I tried not to think about bow tie jokes whenever I looked at the man wearing one. But I couldn’t help it. You were in my thoughts all night long. It kept me from feeling too sad. I was on a date with your ghost last night – it helped keep me sane.

Today the children woke at their usual too early for any sane person and I just let it go. I didn’t feel bad in anyway that I still made them pancakes and cleaned up the mess. That I still bathed them and fed them and took care of them all day long. I still did everything I do for my children every single day. I didn’t dwell on the fact that I didn’t get a break today on Mother’s Day. Instead I was thankful for each and every task I did for them. I was grateful that I am their mother and get the opportunity to care for them.

There is no point anymore waiting for you to come home. I am beyond this fantasy. Reality is here and I just will embrace my life. My wonderful children promised to be good all day – and even when they weren’t I didn’t care. They made me presents in school and it was OK daddy wasn’t here to have them make me a card. We visited our family and enjoyed their company and I tried to appreciate all that I have today – not dwell on sorrow – what is the point.

The children and I talked about next Sunday a little bit. I said we were going to the cemetery to see your name and put rocks at your grave. My daughter asked, We are going to see daddy? I clarified as much as I could. No we will not see daddy he is dead. We will see a big rock with his name on it – that is it. I reminded them that they don’t have to come. I told them to think about it all week and let me know next Sunday. They said they want to come. I nodded my head.

This week I go back to therapy. I have two months of crap stored in my brain to discuss. I probably won’t say a word. I only want this week to drag on for months as I dread next weekend with a passion I cannot describe. I want this week to go by in a hurry so I can just get this whole thing over with already.

Seven months of grieving and I still look up at the sky for answers. Seven months of grieving and I still ponder your decision and what I could have done differently. I still wish I could ask you for guidance even though you clearly had no answers yourself.

Despite my lack of tears today, I did miss your card this morning and your corny rhymes. I missed you making a mess in the kitchen with the children and hearing your voice today. But I missed you yesterday and I will miss you tomorrow.

Seeing Red

2010-05-06T18:00:00.000-07:00

I am so angry this week I am seeing red. Actually scarlet. I am so angry and the worst part is that I am not sure who I am really angry with.

Unfortunately, my anger seems directed at anyone in my path, whether deserved or not.

I was furious with my mother yesterday. She showed up at my house with my grandmother. My grandmother only wanted to talk about an ex-boyfriend who I haven’t dated in over 15 years. She then proceeded to remind me how poorly my choices in men have been in the past. And she did this on Cinco de Mayo grrrrrrrr!

My mother only wanted to show me more books about death and bought the children and I new clothing for the unveiling. I unleashed a new fit of rage I didn’t even know I was capable of. Twenty four hours later I am able to think, almost calmly, about what she did and know deep down she is trying to do something nice for me. But I feel at times we are living on different planets. A new dress is not going to make me feel better or make the day any less horrific. The very fact that she bought a new dress for this day just truly sent me over the edge. I can’t explain why – it just seemed like the most irrational thing ever. Maybe you have to be me to get this. I have one dead husband and two small children - a new dress is just absurd.

I also have had just about enough with the books on death, grieving and suicide. I won’t read a single one. They are totally useless to me. These books won’t help me cook meals for my children, drive to work or help with homework. They don’t baby sit when I need a five minute break. If they did anything useful, maybe I would keep them around. But these books filled with other people's sad stories and advice – f**k the books is how I feel right now.

I am angry at every single person who thinks they have an answer for something in my life. I just want everyone to stop. I am GRIEVING. This means let me be. Let me grieve in my own way, on my own time and stop trying to rush the process or sugar coat it or whatever the reasoning being the actions. Just let me be sad and mad and angry and stop trying to make this all go away – because the pain, the sorrow, the very fact that my husband is dead by his own hand, is not going anywhere right now – and I am fuming.

I don’t think I am truly angry at my mother or my dead husband. I am just furious at the world and at times with myself. Maybe this is one of those stages I go through – I think I liked the crying stage better.

Today I just needed to get away from everyone and find somewhere to rid myself of some of this excess ferociousness. So I stormed off to the cemetery.

I stomped my way through the cemetery. Suddenly a small truck pulled up right beside me and the man driving asked me if I was OK. To begin, he startled me as he is the first living person I have seen in the cemetery in almost 7 months. Secondly, I wanted to look at him and say, "it is 9:30 in the morning and I am in a cemetery, of course I am not OK!" But I knew it was the anger talking, so I flashed him a fake smile and said I was fine.

I got to your grave and looked at the dirt. I threw rocks and cried. I didn’t feel much better. I cried some more and punched the dirt until my hand hurt. I am sorry, I was just trying to get some of this aggression out and don’t want anyone to feel the force of my anger – because no one deserves it. But I am angry and sad and angry some more and it feels horrible.

As I left I saw a few other people visiting loved ones. I scoffed at them. Of course visiting on a beautiful day is nice, but where were you all when there was five feet of snow to trudge through or the torrential rain which would whip at my face. I felt instantly ashamed of myself, thinking these terrible thoughts about other mourners. Clearly I didn’t shed as much petulance as I hoped.

I pray this livid stage passes soon and without incident. I wanted to throw pots and pans tonight but I refrained. I didn’t take any of this anger out on the children. I kept it bottled up till now. Tonight I would like to throw the computer across the room just to watch it break. I would like to throw glass into the street just to hear it shatter. But I won’t because it is childish and stupid and expensive.

I hope the next stage I enter is calmer and more fun. Maybe it will be laughing uncontrollably until I pee my pants – anything but seeing red.

Cinco de Mayo

2010-05-04T18:06:00.000-07:00

I am more than halfway through my first year of mourning. They say the first year is the worst because you have to deal with so many firsts – duh! Every holiday my husband has missed, every birthday, everyday something significant occurred, every single Saturday has laid heavily on my heart. Nothing passes by without me noticing. It seems to be up to me to decide how badly I am going to let it hurt. Which is why I moved on my birthday; to completely and utterly distract myself. Mother’s day is coming and I am not even going to think twice about it. It will be just another Sunday – I will be fine.

But tomorrow is Cinco de Mayo – this quite possibly could be the one holiday I can’t recover from.

My husband and I used to own a Mexican restaurant. It is where we met and fell in love. Many of my fondest memories still live in that restaurant and always will. Cinco de Mayo was always the most insane and busiest day for us. Mexican Independence Day and no American would feel complete without drinking a Margarita. As this was our craziest day each year we would also have the worst fights about nothing. But still I loved it. I would make about a million margaritas as my husband would try and keep the customers happy, as we shot each other glances from across the room. Roll our eyes or just wink at one another. Inevitably I would throw a check book at him and he would ask to see me in the walk-in refrigerator to discuss our beer inventory, where we would kiss in private and make up.

But that was then, this is now.

As if the week could not get more complicated, my mother sent us another one of those books – those dealing with death and children books. Mom – I forgot to say thank you. Ironically it is written by the same person who wrote my new favorite book, “Grief Therapy”. I read it to the children tonight and as my four year old walked around while I read, I realized this is just so beyond her. My six year old listened, what he got from it I don’t know. There is a picture where a child goes to a cemetery to visit the person who died. I pointed it out and asked them if they would want to go see daddy’s name. I couldn’t say body or final resting place or anything like that – I just said name. My son looked at me and said, “We went there already!” I said we could go back and bring rocks. I told them that we leave rocks to show daddy that we love and miss him. I should probably Google the real reason we leave rocks – as I have no clue.

My son said yes, he would like to go. The four year old was intrigued by the rock factor as she comes home with pockets full of pebbles daily. They didn’t ask me anything or even cry – I was relieved.

Will they understand tomorrow when I am crying in my coffee? They will never know how much I wish May 5th was over with already. I used to love Cinco de Mayo with all my heart. It was a day that my husband always smiled and laughed. I loved watching him do what he did best, making other people happy. I loved getting angry with him about how he cut the limes the wrong way and would love making up even more.

I will miss him more tomorrow than any day this year. Cinco de Mayo for you might just be the day that falls between May 4th and May 6th, but for me it is everything.

Weekend

2010-05-02T17:19:00.000-07:00

This has been one of those weekends I won’t forget for a long time.

We belong to an amazing private park, which has been closed for months on end for renovations. Finally this past Saturday, it re-opened. This park is the entire reason my husband and I moved to the neighborhood. My children have grown up in this park and there were days I spent more time there than at home. This park has its own personality and at times is like a member of my family.

Walking into the park on Saturday was a mixture of emotions. The great sigh of relief I felt to be “home” again and the agonizing truth that I will never walk through these gates with my husband again.

I felt odd at times – probably my own insecurity, that people who have not seen me all winter were watching my every move. Waiting to see how I am or how I will react to whatever. Mostly there was love – a lot of love coming to me. I was fine until someone would walk over to me and ask me how I am doing. Then I would bite my lip so hard to keep the tears from coming. I would flash my fake smile and tell them I am fine. I think some people were surprised when I say I am fine – what do you really expect me to say?

Those ended up being the easy encounters. The people who don’t ask me how I am doing, because they too have experienced loss; they just look at me and say – it sucks doesn’t it. Those were the times words failed me and the tears just ran silently down my face. A few times people just hugged me this weekend and said your name out loud and how much they missed you. No lip biting or teeth gritting could keep my tears away.

I spent a lot of time missing you this weekend – in our perfect sunny park. I can’t believe you will never sit on a bench with me and watch our children make mud pies or play baseball. Every bench felt empty without you, even though it was filled with all our friends.

Then we get to tonight – probably one of the worst nights in our family history. Personally I thought I was good this weekend – there was not a lot of screaming and yelling and crying. I was trying to stay relaxed and low key. But at some point tonight my six year old got very angry with me. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, just that he was angry with me. I didn’t push him. He is allowed to be angry with me. But then at bed time he told me when he is a teenager he is moving to Australia to get away from me. He might as well just take a knife and slice my heart into pieces now. I tried to get him to tell me why he was leaving. He finally said I was a terrible mommy and it is all my fault daddy is dead.

I didn’t say anything for a very long time. I just didn’t know what to say. I put him into bed and tucked him in without getting worked up. His sister was fake sleeping in the bottom bunk and he was huffing and puffing angrily on the top bunk. I prayed with him and then asked him for a hug and kiss. He refused. That is when I started to cry. Not because he told me he was moving to Australia or that he blamed me for his dead daddy – but because he denied me a good night kiss. I started crying and then the four year old started crying and then finally the six year old joined us in our tears.

I took his head into my hands so he had to look me in the eye and said to him, “I am going to tell you something grown up now and I want you to really listen.” I said to him, “daddy dying is hard on me, it is hard on your sister and it is hard on you. But no matter what, we are a family and we need to stick together. We can get angry at one another, we can fight and then we make up – but we are a family – and we stay together!”

By this time I am choking on my words and the tears are pouring down my face. My son is crying hysterically and grabs me into his arms and says he is sorry he was mad and he is not mad anymore. His is crying and crying.

My daughter is hysterically crying so I climb down to her bed and she says to me – I want to listen to you mommy, but I just can’t take it anymore – I miss my daddy!

This scene went on for a few minutes; me climbing back and forth between the two beds as everyone is crying and kissing and hugging me.

I got everyone out of bed and into the bathroom. We blew our noses and washed our faces and calmed down. My son asked me if crying solves problems – I said sometimes crying just makes you feel better and your problems don’t seem so bad.

I got everyone back into bed again and this time they went to sleep without tears without drama as if nothing insane just happened.

So now I sit here thinking about what I said and what they said and feel terrible. Terrible that I made them cry, terrible that they were upset to begin with. Maybe I said the wrong things to them tonight. Deep down I believe in being honest with them and getting them to be honest with me. I want them to know how important our family is and how normal it is to be upset with each other.

I am no longer second guessing myself anymore. I am no longer listening to anyone else’s advice. If I screw up and say the wrong thing – so be it. There are three people in this world I have to please these days – my children and myself. Everyone else must take a number.

I am exhausted and it is Sunday – six more sleeps till I can be back in the park.

Two Beers

2010-04-30T18:00:00.000-07:00

I had two beers with dinner tonight – and then it was all over. As I was getting the kids out of the shower I actually walked over to the telephone to call you. I saw my hand reaching out to grab the phone and then all of a sudden I gasped. In just an instance I had forgotten you were dead, thought of something I wanted to tell you and then was reminded all over again that you could not be reached. All it took was two beers. I didn’t cry or get upset, but I was so amazed that such a thing could happen. Is this a good sign or a bad one? I am not sure. Maybe because it was a beautiful day and I had pizza and beer with my friends and life for a moment felt normal – that I momentarily forgot how miserable I actually am.

Maybe this is the key to everything. Distracting myself and throwing myself so far into living that I don’t have to time to feel sadness. Maybe because your photos are not in the house yet – maybe because I am just trying so very hard not to look as bad on the outside as I feel on the inside.

I went back to the house today. I have no idea why. I stood in the backyard and just felt a comfort I don’t feel anywhere else. It is the same feeling I get in the cemetery. A terribly sad feeling that is overshadowed with sweet memories of you and of our life together. I wish someone would change the freaking locks already so I can’t go back. It is enough that I have the cemetery to go to. I could easily spend all my time shuffling back and forth between the house and the cemetery, just living in the past until I probably go crazy. I should give the keys to a friend and just take control of my own actions. No – I don’t see myself being that proactive.

Your six year old son has lost his two front teeth. I can’t believe you aren’t here to see his goofy, yet adorable face. This is such a quirky milestone in a child’s life. The only moment in time where they have no front teeth. They talk funny, can’t eat well and as the larger teeth come in – they grow up almost right in front of you. Some days I just really can't believe you aren't here to share with me all the joys of our beautiful children.

You are missing so much these days I almost can’t keep track. I have found myself feeling very odd this week. I feel sad but the tears don’t come. I almost want to cry to release myself of some of the burden – but they just stay intact.

We are slowly getting used to the new house. Very slowly. I find I have a much harder time adjusting then they do. I am more annoyed with the new house then anything else. Everything is different and I still walk around lost and out of sorts.
I just don’t feel like this is home. I am surrounded by familiar items but they all seem foreign in these new surroundings. I am trying to be patient. Trying.

I keep making promises to myself for the coming months. I have a wish list going on in my head. I want to calm down and stop feeling stressed out. I want to have more fun and go on enjoyable adventures with my children. I want to stop feeling like I am on an emotional roller coaster. I don’t want to go to one on one therapy. I have called someone twice and twice I have hung up before leaving a message. I just don’t feel like spending the time and energy on something that I think is a waste. Nothing anyone says is going to bring my husband back, make me feel less guilty or sad or whatever it is I feel.

I feel like at times I am much better when the voices in my head – aka my family stop harassing me and telling me what they think I should be doing. No one has walked in my shoes and yet everyone seems perfectly content telling me what I need to do to fix my situation.

At this point the only advice I am willing to take is to drink two beers and hang out with some friends.

Slow Motion

2010-04-26T17:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like I am in slow motion as the rest of the world zooms by me. I can be walking or driving and then everything inside me just stops. Just shuts down and all I see is your face. In these moments that come to me without any warning or provoking - I miss you so profoundly.

Forget the anger I felt all weekend. The sadness and the tears. This is different. This is loss. I miss you so much it feels unbearable. I miss talking to you and hearing your voice. I miss sharing my life with you and of course I miss sharing our children. I don’t ever want my feelings for you to go away and yet they are so painful. I don’t ever want to forget how much fun we had and how much we loved each other. If all I have left are painful memories than I accept this. I just wish you were here today, with us, making new memories. I just really miss you so very much today.

Maybe because this awful ordeal of choosing a headstone and the wording is just - well, it just sucks. I think the moment this is all over I am going to choose my own stone, write the words and pick a place. I can’t bear for my children to have to do this for me. This is just awful. It is morbid and painful and I wish we had discussed and planned this when he was alive and well and maybe it just wouldn’t seem so terrible right now.

My four year old was brushing her teeth tonight – with green spit spilling from her mouth she said to me, I miss daddy. I wish he wasn’t dead. And then went right back to brushing. These moments that also come from nowhere are just too much for me. I try to comfort and say I am sorry daddy is dead. I try and not cry hysterically. I know they miss him and he is always in our thoughts. Sometimes they just need to say them out loud. I blog and they tell me things while brushing their teeth. It is all the same. Grieving and dealing and trying somehow and someway to live a normal life wrapped in an abnormal package.

I had some time alone with my six year old today. I looked at him and asked, so how are you doing? How are you really doing? He knew exactly what I meant. He didn’t say fine – which I was thankful for. He said I am O.K. He said I am kind of sad because daddy is dead. Then he said I am kind of mad too. Why did daddy have to die and not someone else? I don’t really answer him because there is no answer. I simply told him that it is totally normal to feel mad and sad. I don’t want him to keep anything from me. I always feel better when he opens up to me, but he didn’t have a lot more to say about daddy after that. He is way to into “The Diary of a Wimpy Kid” and only wanted to talk about that. This was fine with me.

I am dreading, with a fear I cannot explain, the unveiling. My mother thinks I should talk to a shrink before I tell the children about the day. But they already know daddy’s body is in the ground. They know he is dead. This is really not a situation that can be sugar coated. I won’t lie. The best I can do is ask them if they want to come and not pressure them into attending. But I know them – my children will want to go and it will be awful . . .

I wish I could speed myself up and catch up with everyone – but I am stuck in slow motion. Revisiting past memories while simultaneously trying to live life and move forward. I am moving forward, a little bit everyday, but I do so with cement shoes.

Sad Saturday

2010-04-24T18:20:00.000-07:00

Today was a sad Saturday and I only have myself to blame. Some days I just can’t get that black cloud to leave me alone. It should have been a better day than it was. The sun was shinning we had birthday party plans – but nothing seemed to make my empty sad feelings go away.

Maybe because it has just been a terribly long week. Nothing seems normal and there is just so much to do and so little time to get anything done.

The children were such a nightmare today. We had an early doctor’s appointment and then I took them for donuts and to a bookstore. It should have been a nice Saturday morning – but it wasn’t. Throughout it all they just didn’t listen to me. They are defiant to me and fight each other. Probably normal behavior for 4 and 6, but it just wears me down until I am left helpless. It is so very difficult being a single parent; more difficult than I ever imagined. This was the kind of day where I am at my wits end and every little thing sets me off. The kind of day my husband should have been here to rescue me. He would tell me to take a walk – lie down and rest – read a book – something just to cool off and calm down. But he isn’t here to rescue me anymore – and it makes my horrible black cloud seem even darker.

I picked up my friend and her children for the birthday party. The moment she opened the door I just broke down in tears. I feel like the world’s worst parent today and it is mostly because I just don’t know what I am doing wrong. Maybe I am too strict on them. Maybe I am not strict enough. I just don’t know anymore. Maybe I am just tired and the move has taken such an emotional toll on me that I am out of patience, energy, whatever it is I need to get me through tough parenting times. I have a lot of help. I really do. This is not what bothers me. It is the emotional stress that never leaves – that will never go away. This is what causes me stress and grief and . . .

She went out to the car and talked to my kids. She helped intervene for us. We had a much better day after that. We laughed and hugged and cried and I hoped the rest of the day would be just better. I guess it was – for a Saturday.

Our new house is not feeling like a home yet. It just feels like a place where we live now. I am not even close to being unpacked or settled in and our normal routines are still not quite there.

I go into the new backyard and our tree isn’t there. Nothing is familiar and maybe I am just unsettled by this. I miss you so much. I miss being in a place where I used to see you live your life. It is painful to be somewhere you have never been. It hurts and makes me so upset – it is probably what is making this place not feel like home – you are not here.

Your ghost is not here and there are no pictures of you anywhere. There aren’t any pictures up anywhere – but I miss seeing your face. I thought if I didn’t see you every day smiling from the walls I would feel better. I don’t. I feel worse. I feel like I am not sure what to do with photos. Nothing feels right. I am just keeping them in a box in the middle of my bedroom until I decide. Maybe I will never decide and the box will just remain where I step over or around it - never making any decisions.

I hate feeling this way, so out of sorts, so sad and tired. I hate feeling like my life is a mess and I don’t know where to begin. I thought once the move was over I would be better. But now there are just new sad thoughts and worries and concerns.

I am trying to keep it all together. I am tired of defending my actions to my family. I am tired of everyone telling me what they think I should be doing. I wish no one knew where I moved to. I wish I changed my phone number. I wish I could just be invisible for a few more months. I wish the children would behave better and hope it is not my fault they act this way in the first place.

I just want to feel happy and normal again and I don’t ever see this happening. I feel worry and dread and hate the phone calls that will come from this post.

I just want the world to leave me alone for while and let me unpack and be miserable in peace.

Shopping

2010-04-22T17:27:00.000-07:00

I really hate shopping. Yes, I am one of those freaky girls who hate to shop. If I do have to go into a store, I know what I want before I go. I get what I need and get out. Quick and painless - that is how I shop. I am not a browser, if I am in a store for any long periods of time I get antsy and impatient and just leave.

So now I am shopping for a headstone. This is some kind of cruel joke, because you can’t just walk into a store for a headstone. Or maybe you can, but I just won’t. All I know is that I went to Target today and they don’t have them – they have everything else of course – but not a headstone. I started looking on-line at photos my mom sent me, but it is just too surreal to be doing this. So I did what I do best – I ran off to the cemetery to look for answers.

I went in with a mission, which really didn’t help my overall reason for being there, but it was a bit distracting. Instead of head down, hurrying to my husband’s grave, I read every stone along the way. I tried to notice the intricate designs that went into each stone. I tried to think about the person who had to make the decision to put this headstone with this design and these words just so. There are a lot of dead people in this cemetery. The stones go on for miles. You can really get caught up in each and every family member and try to figure out who is married to whom and why they picked what. It is like a dead soap opera.

I sat at your grave in the wet grass and cried some. I asked you what you wanted on your tombstone. There was no answer and you were no help at all. I ran down a few scenarios with you. It seems almost ridiculous that this is what I did on a beautiful spring day. Sitting in a cemetery talking to my dead husband about what his final resting place will say. I was so angry with you today. Just so sad and angry that I cried out of sheer frustration.

It feels terrible to miss you so much and be angry at you so very much. I am trying hard not to think about you being dead and then there is this. An event that is so totally focused on you. This is all about you and it just brings back so many emotions I have dealt with over the past six months. This is an impossible task. It is awful and terrible and truly overwhelming. Deep down I just don’t want to do it. I want the perfect head stone to just magically appear with the greatest saying ever and I want to not have to do a darn thing. But really, if I was making wishes – I would just wish this whole thing away and have you back in our lives.

Your six year old is sad this week. He misses the old house. He misses his daddy. I am full of anger and grief. Today would not be a good day to write the message for your stone – it may say “big fat jerk” or something more awful. I will wait till tomorrow and hope I am in a better frame of mind.

I am trying to do this the right way without thinking about it. Does that make any sense? I am trying to find the right words that don’t exist. I am trying to find a message that your children and someday grandchildren will read and know that you were loved.

Maybe it should just be blank – because deep down there are no words for how I feel.

Last Look

2010-04-20T18:12:00.000-07:00

My six year old came home from Hebrew school tonight crying hysterically. I looked at him and asked what was wrong. He said, I miss our old house and I want to go there now! He stretched his hand out toward the direction of the house and continued to cry.

I picked him up and carried him inside letting him cry in my arms. I think today was the first day he has been driven by the house to go on to our new place. I think reality just hit him very hard. My daughter, who mimics her brother, said sadly that she wanted to go say goodbye to the house too.

Honestly, I just wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. Finally I said to them, I will take you back to the old house to say goodbye - but I don’t want to take you if it will make you more upset. They said it would make them feel better. I put my trust in them to tell me the truth.

We walked down the familiar sidewalk and I let us in. I still can’t figure out how to work the locks and keys in my new house. It was all the more frustrating as I swiftly unlocked the old house without incident.

The kids walked in and looked around. Then they ran around. We went into every empty room. They went into their bedroom and kissed the walls. My daughter went into the bathroom and kissed the tub. I tried very hard not to cry. They were not sad; they were just taking it all in. They were finding tiny bits of toys left behind and putting them into their pockets. Any piece of paper or scrap of something on the floor they grabbed. As if they wanted to take every last bit they could out of the house.

After about ten minutes I told them it was time to go home. It sounded odd to say this being in our house – but well, this isn’t our home anymore. As we walked back I let the tears slide down my face. The children were smiling. They left the house last Wednesday for school and never went back. I think seeing the house empty was probably good for them – to see that nothing important was left behind and everything we need is right here with us.

At dinner I reminded them this – that all our things are with us and that all we left behind are the walls and the floor. My six year old agreed that everything we need is with us – there were no more tears.

I on the other hand am now very upset. Upset that they have to deal with so much so soon. They are so little and all I want to do is protect them. It seems impossible at times. No, it seems impossible all of the time.

My father-in-law is coming up in a few weeks. I am thinking about trying to get my husband’s unveiling done while he is up north. I asked my mother to make calls. I just can’t. I keep asking my family what to put on the tombstone – it is an impossible task. I get it now, why so many graves say beloved this and beloved that. No words are enough to express how I feel. No words feel right and nothing is coming to me – no lyrics no poetry – nothing. Here I am the writer and I can’t think of a freaking thing to write on his tombstone. I guess everyone gets to this point and then they just write beloved.

I have no idea how much headstones cost. But if they charge by the letter I am simply going to put – Mr. G.

Fifth Nite

2010-04-18T16:51:00.000-07:00

Tonight is our fifth night in the house. It has been a heck of a week. Littered with good and bad and has been such a whirlwind I almost don’t know where to begin.

The move went well. The birthday was the most un-birthday day I ever had. I can’t complain, I did it on purpose. I didn’t want to have any time on my birthday to think about my dead husband. To feel sad that he wasn’t here to wake me up singing, have the kids make me a card or just make me feel special all day long. As it was, I was so unbelievably busy moving and stressing that at times I totally forgot what day it was.

I want to complain about how hard the last five days were, but I feel like it would be selfish to do so. My family and friends have gone above and beyond what any one person deserves. From the first break of dawn on moving day I had more help than I knew what to do with. My friends came in and took over. They cleaned the new place, organized and went food shopping. They laid down a new floor while the movers worked around them. They came everyday after the move and just unpacked for me. They walked around me or over me as I sat in a daze unable to comprehend anything. It felt like the week after the funeral. So many people around to help it made me feel helpless. I couldn’t focus on anything as my brain just tried to remember how to breathe.

Friends took my children home from school and kept them so I could unpack. A friend hauled my garbage into the street and never stopped smiling. A friend took my mom and the kids to the movies so I could have a moment of peace. They sent their husbands over to put up shelves and mirrors, hooked up my TV and bought tables, just to get my life back together. My sister came and put my entire kitchen in order in three hours. My mother stayed longer than she ever would and put up with my screaming and crying because she knew, despite the words I said, that I needed her. My friends took me out to dinner and then out for drinks and dancing. They bought me birthday presents and came over to make my children pancakes. There is more – so much, much more.

So I can’t complain about a single thing. I am back in the position of never being able to repay anyone for the enormous amount of love and support I have received. I feel undeserving of it all. Mostly I wish there was someway to let them all know how much they have done for me and how I will never, ever forget any of this.

I won’t complain about the last few days. I will just comment. Everything feels wrong. That is all I can come up with now. Everything is different and feels wrong. I don’t where anything is and feel like I am living in some furnished hotel where you can’t find the forks or the bathroom and don’t know how to turn on the heat. Every noise startles me and none of my things look in the right place to me.

Tonight as I sit here, the first quiet night alone since I moved in – all I feel is that I just want to go home. I want to walk back down the street with my children and go home. There is nothing wrong with where I live now, except there just isn’t anything right.

Like everything, I know this is just another adjustment in my life that needs time to make it better. My children are amazing and love the new place and have not once mentioned our old house. As if the moment we moved there was nothing before. I on the other hand have the walked the empty house a few times until the tears came. Then I realized I am just torturing myself and have not gone back.

I know that time will make this house a home and it will somehow be great and better than before. I just have to think about the wonderful people who keep me sane and whole and I can get though this as well.

The End

2010-04-12T18:15:00.000-07:00

This is my last night writing in my house. Because tomorrow night I will either be frantically packing everything in sight or I will be eating everything in sight to empty out the fridge. Either way – I won’t be writing.

Then again, maybe tomorrow night I will just wander around the house saying goodbye to every single crevice in each and every wall. I will walk on every step, spin around every room and try and take it all in. Try and remember what this house feels like. I don’t really know how to say goodbye to a house. Every time I moved I was excited about leaving – happy. Not this time. I hate goodbyes. Leaving this house is just another loss – and I know it is not the same as losing my husband. It is just all mixed up together and feels - well I am not sure how it feels. I am numb and the words just aren’t coming so easily tonight.

I am grasping here, but I want to remember moving to this house with my husband and two year old son. I want to remember bringing my newborn girl home. I want to remember the children learning how to walk in this house, potty train and read. I want to remember all the wonderful birthday parties, moms gone wild and New Year’s Day parties we had here. I want to remember you lying in bed reading to the children and then sitting on the couch watching Fox News with a carton of ice cream in your holey sweat pants.

I need to try and suck every morsel of good times we had in this house and bring them with me. Because tonight all I see is the kitchen table where I found your suicide note and the police coming into my kitchen to tell me you are dead. It is hard to think of good times, when all I can think about is how just six short months ago I sat Shiva for you in this house.

Numb still. Like I am standing just outside my body and watching this all unfold. Like everything that has happened - it doesn’t feel like this really happened to me. I am just an outsider viewing this person go through so much tragedy and awfulness. I feel bad for her, but I don’t feel bad. I feel nothing at all.

This worries me. I am waiting for the utter despair to just hit me so hard I literally break into pieces.

I am just sitting here in my kitchen and looking around and seeing you everywhere. I am a walking contradiction. I am moving to change my life and yet I just want everything to stay the same. I want to know I will see your ghost and yet I hate the way your ghost stops me in my tracks.

I don’t know what I want. Yes I do. I want the tears to stop rolling down my face so I can type. I must be fooling myself when I said I wasn’t upset tonight. I think I am beyond what upset feels like, so I don’t have the words.

I can’t write anymore tonight.

Six Months

2010-04-10T17:55:00.000-07:00

My Dearest Love,

Today you are dead six months. Six months. I say this and then I wait for something to feel different. Nothing happens. I feel like this is such a milestone and yet I have made zero progress in my mourning, in my life, in anything at all.

I have been trying to not think about you dead every Saturday. Today I didn’t even try and stop the pain from the coming. I went to bed thinking about you and woke up crying. I was invited to dinner with friends and just said no thank you. I just didn’t want to fight the sadness today. I didn’t feel like faking my emotions and wearing my phony smile. Today I just wanted to let the sadness in and feel it coursing through my veins. I have no fight left in me today and just gave in. I don’t care about hiding the truth today – that I am just plain miserable.

I hit a major wall this afternoon and couldn't stop the tears. I am just so sick of the boxes and the packing and the children not listening and the utter chaos that has consumed me. I went over to the garment box and took out all of your shirts. I am angry there is no room in the box for any of my things. The box is filled with all your clothes and you are dead. What the hell am I holding onto them for? I pulled them out and of course just the sight of them set me off. I hugged them and cried and then I threw them down the stairs in anger and followed them down punching and kicking them and stamping on them and having an all out battle with your shirts.

The kids looked on, shocked by my actions. I said the first thing that came to my head – I thought I saw a bug and was trying to kill it. Oh they said, and continued watching Sponge Bob. I have told them in the past when I am crying that sometimes I cry because I am so happy and feel so lucky to have them. So now every time I cry they ask me if I am happy. I nod my head up and down and they feel better. For the record, I never cry when I am happy. I laugh.

At dinner tonight I looked at them and said, you know daddy has been dead for six months now. My four year old said, so daddy is never coming back? I said no, never. Strangely enough my six year old didn’t even comment. He asked me for more ketchup for his chicken. That was it.

I just wanted them to talk about you and even cry a little. I feel like they are losing a little bit of you everyday. I am trying to keep your memory alive and try and talk about you as much as I can. But we can go days now without bringing you up. Some days I am relived when you aren’t discussed, it makes life a little bit easier. But some days, like today, I feel like maybe I am punishing you by not bringing you up to the children and I feel terrible. So I say something, anything about you that I can think of – just to keep you in the loop. Today I was consumed with six months so that was all I had the energy to say.

I just feel numb after six months. I thought I would feel something. Not better, not worse - just something. I am annoyed with myself for feeling so empty today. I am angry and sad and tired and stressed. I have packed this house entirely by myself. Though I have lots of offers to help me, I have said no to them all. I feel like I need to do the packing – maybe to punish myself for feeling so horrible about how you ended up dead.

You have missed so much in six months I couldn’t even begin to list it all. This is only the beginning. You are going to miss every wonderful event moving forward and it breaks my heart. You are missing every sniffle and insignificant moment in your children’s lives and they will never be the same. I will never be the same and it just feels like a mistake. A horrible, terrible, tragic mistake.

You can’t possibly know the sorrow embedded deep down in my soul and it is only when I really let it out do I realize how much pain I am truly in. I have been trying to keep it together and take care of our children. Take care of all the responsibilities I must do now. I am trying to be fine.

Today when I take a day off from struggling against the sorrow I feel it all over again. Wave after wave of sadness, guilt, anger, pain, misery and feelings that I can’t even put a name to.

You are so missed and so loved and so not forgotten. I wish somehow you knew. I wish there was someway I could tell you that we are not fine – not at all. But despite the flood of emotions – the strongest one of all is our love for you.

Ironic

2010-04-08T17:46:00.000-07:00

Forget everything I said about being fine. I am officially back on the freak out train. I am moving in five days, this Saturday marks six months and I am a mess. So much for positive thinking. I am just trying to remind myself how to breathe.

I am trying to hate the house. I am trying to look at every little thing breaking and hate the house. But the truth is, I love my house. It is mine. Well, it was mine. Once upon a time I had big plans for this house. I won’t get into details, but I am a big planner. I like to see everything mapped out right in front of me so there are no surprises. I wanted to get married and have two children in two years. I wanted to raise them and write my novel and then and then you died. So much for all my planning.

If it were up to me I would live my life day to day. I would never make plans and never even look at a calendar. This is what I would do, because the future terrifies the hell out of me – chills down my spine scary. But I have two small children and they cannot live without me or a calendar. It is April and time for normal people to start thinking about their summer plans – I barely know what we are having for dinner. I force myself to act like a human being and make their plans – but when I glimpse into their future mine seeps in a little through the cracks. I just have no idea what I am supposed to do next. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up – except a writer. But this dream died right along with you.

So I am just stuck. I wake up. I raise my children. I pack. I mourn. This is all I do and anything else just seems bigger than I can handle.

But instead of doing what I really needed to be doing today; working and packing – I went to the cemetery. I just ran away from everything and everyone. I went to the one place where I feel the worst, yet the only place where I can truly hide and feel some peace – ironic isn’t it.

My husband’s grave is covered in dirt and rocks – there is no grass or bushes like all the older graves he lays next to. An eye sore of the neighborhood I am sure. Today when I approached every stone on his grave looked like it was in the shape of a heart. I am not kidding – it was weird. I took it as a gift from him and not an act of nature.

I sat and talked to him and then I cried. But I didn’t even cry as long or loud as usual. I just really sat there at 9:30 in the morning feeling the odd comfort of being near him and let the sun warm my wet face. It is so hard sitting there trying to get my brain to really understand that his body is lying underground. It just feels so wrong and so awful. But still I sat listening to the birds chirp and lizards scurry and filled him in on what he has missed.

I complained about silly random things bothering me, and told him he was missing my birthday next week. I told him about the move and that I signed the lease this week and felt like throwing up afterward. The finality of what I am doing is just starting to hit and freak me out. I said I was sorry for the millionth time and told him to please tell G-d that I forgive him and hope his soul is at peace. Finally, I took a tiny piece of paper with our new address on it and tucked it under a rock, so he would know where to find us.

I left with a heavy heart and walked slowly backed to the car. Reality always feels worse after I leave.

On the drive home I thought about what a few people have said to me over the past two weeks. Their comments all have the same thought behind it and I have no response. They tell me I am young and beautiful and smart and will someday find love again. Um, ugh and whatever.

Here is how I view my life. I married the one person on the planet who made me feel special and happy. He could make me laugh over nothing and we started what I thought would be a long and wonderful life together. This is not like replacing a dead goldfish – this was my fairy tale.

But as far as I know they don’t have a fairy tale about my life – even the Grimm’s didn’t touch this one. A princess marries her soul-mate prince after a long and romantic courtship, they live happily ever after until the prince gets killed by the dragon or falls on his own sword (in my case) and then the princess must pick herself up and get back out there to attend more balls at the palace and find . . . what? Another soul-mate prince? I don’t think fairy G-d mother’s do this kind of shit twice.

Honestly, this sounds like something Disney would love to get their hands on.

Yizkor

2010-04-05T18:39:00.000-07:00

It is not easy being a Jew – especially when dealing with death. First you have to bury the person right away – like within 24 hours. Then you have to sit Shiva for a week and after Shiva you are supposed to spend the first year as a mourner. A mourner in the sense that you don’t listen to live music, don’t attend parties and there are more but I just don’t remember. Before the first year is over you have to get a headstone and do an unveiling at the grave. Then there is Yizkor – where you light a candle four times a year in memory of your lost loved one.

Tonight is the first night of Yizkor for me. Just when I have been feeling stronger, just when I am trying to fight the sadness and the madness – now I have to light a candle and really think about him. As if I needed this.

As if the super fast funeral which I barely remember, or the week long Shiva where all I remember is too much food and too many people. As if constantly contemplating what is supposed to go on his headstone and the looks of sadness on my children’s faces wasn’t enough to make me think about him. But I am Jew so Yizkor it is.

I thought about doing it privately and not involving the children. Then I thought well maybe they should be a part of this. Maybe lighting four times a year will be a good time for us all to reflect and think about our loss. Are you done laughing at my stupidity? Because I am not.

During dinner I explained to the children about the lighting of the candle. My six year old said that four times a year wasn’t enough. We should light a candle four times a month. I said this is the way the Jews do it. He continued to argue his point. So I served dessert and figured there would be a little quiet and I would be able to focus and involve them as well.

As I lit the candle I told them I was going to pray and they could pray too or just send a message to daddy. I stood up and not really knowing what to do recited the Mourner’s Kaddish. I got half way through and just started to cry – not just cry - go hysterical. I put my hands over my face and tried to hold it together which only made me cry harder. I looked up, afraid that I was worrying them and said, we are going to be fine, really we – and then my six year old said, mommy you’re interrupting my praying. I looked over at him and watched as he was having an entire conversation, his mouth moving hands waving – but in total silence. My four year old also was praying but never stopped eating her dessert.

When I was finally able to finish the prayer I said a few words to my husband and at this point the six year old was in tears and came running into my arms crying. I hugged him and grabbed the four year old and we sat at the table for a while just crying and possibly remembering.

I almost asked my son if he still thought four times a month was a good idea – but I realize a six year old wouldn’t really pick up on my sarcasm.

I think in a way lighting the candle with them makes it more meaningful. I didn’t expect us not to cry and be upset – and at the very least they understood why I was crying. Then they watched me pull myself together and clean up after the meal – and all went back to normal – well our new normal anyway.

I put the children to bed and went on to tackle more packing. But instead I am sitting here writing, because tonight I just can’t do it. I feel him all around me and it just seems surreal that he is dead.

I found a scrapbook from our wedding and he looks so happy and alive in photos that it just doesn’t seem possible that all that occurred is really real.

I am trying so hard to not look back, but the longer I hold off the more painful it is when I do slip back down memory lane. I miss him so much and miss his laughter and miss every single thing that used to piss me off.

So like I said, it is really not easy being a Jew with a dead husband but I guess deep down it is just really not always so easy being me.

Modern Family

2010-04-04T17:36:00.000-07:00

The children and I spent the last three days with family. It has been a long vacation and though I have barely packed – it was worth it. We spent one day with my sister, her husband and children. One day with my husband’s brother and family and today we spent with my husband’s ex-wife, her husband and my step-son.

I suppose we have the quintessential modern family. All I know is that my children have many people who love them and to me it doesn’t really matter how they came about. What is interesting to me is the family dynamics, especially when I spend time with my husband’s family without him. Over the last few months we have been trying very hard to spend more time with each other. It is not hard or awkward, just different.

In a way my husband’s death has made us all closer. I think we all appreciate what we have more than ever before and realize that family must and always does come first. In the beginning it was really sad for me to be with everyone without him. But now, over time I realize we are just making new memories and starting new traditions, rather than dwelling on the old ones.

Today we spent in Central Park. My husband’s ex-wife and I were discussing how there really isn’t a term for her. How many wives with dead husband’s hang out with the ex-wife? It probably seems very weird to an outsider, but to us it really just feels natural. Our children share a father who is no longer here and she and I are very much in the same boat in a lot of ways. I have always liked her and now I love and adore her and couldn’t imagine my life without her.

We never did come up with a term for each other – I will have to work on this – as my dead husband’s ex-wife is just too wordy for me. Maybe DHEW or something.

When the children and I got on the train home my four year old daughter only wanted to talk to me about my birthday. She asked where I was having the party. I said we could have a small party in the house. Who is invited? she asked. I said that she was, her brother and her Nana, who will be coming in to help with the move. She asked me, can daddy come? I said no, he can’t come. She just looked up at me and suddenly cried – I miss my daddy! Oh no, I thought and just hugged her tight as the train lurched along. I am sorry daddy isn’t here I said over and over. After a few moments she looked at me and I was waiting for the next whatever to come. Can I have my chocolate lollipop? She asked. Of course I said.

Later when I tucked her into bed she asked me, is everyone a little bit sad that my daddy died. I said yes they were. But they don’t look sad, she said. I told her that not everyone was going to cry every time she saw them but they still miss her daddy and are sad. She said I miss my daddy and I am a little bit sad – but I am not crying either. I said that was totally fine. Then she peacefully went to sleep.

I feel just like my four year old. I am sad and missing him but am not going to cry. Though I say this and the tears immediately well up in my eyes. But I am proud of myself for how I dealt with my demons over this past weekend. Maybe because a lot of the pictures are packed and the only images now are the ones in my head. I am proud of myself because every time I thought about anything horrible, I was able to just push it away somewhere and focus on the present.

I don’t know if this is the right thing to do. I hope the pushing away doesn’t one day catch up with me. I have to believe that this won’t happen. I have lived and breathed with these awful images for months now. I have let them take over my heart and my mind freely for so long – they can’t – they just can’t protest when now I choose to tuck them away for a while.

We move in eleven days and the sun is shinning and I am trying with every ounce of my being to be fine with everything going on. I have called in the troops to help me pack next week. And if all else fails, I have my modern family.

Good Grief

2010-04-02T17:29:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamt that my husband called me on the telephone. He wanted to know what I was doing to miss him. I told him I cried everyday and thought of him constantly. I told him how the children and I speak about him and miss him terribly. He kept asking the same question over and over again. How am I missing him? How am I missing him? I kept answering until my voice was dry. Finally I asked him – do you miss us? Silence. Just utter silence. I woke up soon after with an aching in my heart. What does this dream mean? – please like I really know.

Six months is soon approaching and I think I have gotten no where. All I do know is that I totally get this grief thing now. I am not sure how to explain myself but I will try.

I have good days and terrible days. The missing my dead husband is always constant. I don’t always want to talk about him – sometimes I only want to talk about him. But I am aware of how everyone in my life is moving on. They don’t ask the questions they all did in the beginning and I cherish this. I don’t want to always talk about just death all the time and I doubt anyone wants to hear about death all the time either. Grief is just this thin sheet I am always wrapped up in, that covers me - maybe it will forever. Grief is always present, even if sometimes I tuck it up my sleeve for an hour or two.

It doesn’t bother me that I am watching the world live life as usual. I think back to people I know over the years that have lost loved ones – I don’t ask anymore how they are doing - unless they bring it up. Almost as if asking would be reminding them about their loss. I won’t ever need reminding – it lives in my heart always. But grief is now something I want to do alone – in the shower, at night before I go to bed, whenever I find quiet moments alone. I don’t want to grieve publicly anymore – I just won’t.

In my grief therapy book I have found a lot of quotes that I can relate to. Who knew a silly little hallmark book that I shelved all these months would be the one thing that may save me. Maybe because it is just so simplistic. It takes the chaos of my feelings that I can’t focus on and puts it out there in simple phrases that totally makes sense to me.

“There may be a small place within you that remains hollow. Value it. This quiet, abiding feeling may be one of G-d’s ways of sustaining the connection to your precious loved one.”

If you don’t know how it feels to lose a loved one – you may not understand how scared I have been of this hollow, empty feeling I carry. But now not only do I realize why I feel this way, I can embrace and not fear it.

I am missing therapy this month to move. Honestly I am happy about it. The thing about my suicide group therapy is that it is just so freaking sad. Of course I don’t expect anyone to walk in and do stand up comedy but something uplifting would be welcome. But this is me. If I don’t have humor and laughter in my life then I have nothing. It is so hard to walk into a room you know everyone is every bit as sad and miserable as you. Who needs to be reminded how awful their life is? Someday I want someone to walk in with a big smile and say - I am doing great and someday you will too. But this doesn’t happen. Instead I hear about depression and there is crying and misery and life has no meaning and I will never be happy again. I feel this way too – but it is hard to hear other people say what you fear the most – that they are not over the death of their loved ones and they don’t think they ever will be.

So I decided today that I am sticking to my grieving in private. I don’t want to look and sound miserable to the outside world. I don’t want people to think they can’t talk to me about the good in their lives for fear of saddening me – I want people to be real with me – no matter what.

Though I count this blog as private, which is funny in itself – maybe I will blog forever about this. This blog is my comfort blanket that lies over the sheet of grief and fills the void of the evening after the children have gone to bed. When it is just me and I wander around the house missing him the most – when it is just me alone. So I blog to not feel so alone and of course to get it all out.

Every book I have read about grief says basically the same thing. There are stages you go through, though in no particular order- some may reoccur and some take longer than others. Thanks – that is helpful.

Personally my take on grief is this - I will never ‘get over’ the loss of my husband and father to my children and I will forever be a changed person. But how I change and what I do with the change is inevitably my choice.

UP

2010-03-30T17:36:00.000-07:00

What is the expression? We make plans and then G-d makes our decisions. Whatever it is, that’s what happened to me today. The kids and I were supposed to go to New Jersey today to spend the second Seder with my husband’s family. But my six year old woke up vomiting – so those plans were shot.

I was worried about him and then just frustrated with the constant illness going on in my house. Instead of being angry that my husband wasn’t here I stopped myself and soon realized there was nothing I could do about it. So I ended my pity party and the kids and I and the “bucket” sat in front of the TV and put on a new movie – “UP”

I should have known not to trust another Disney movie. Disney is just evil and twisted and seems to have more family issues than me. But I am naive and always seem to let them into our lives, even though I should just boycott the entire enterprise. We watched as the movie unfolded. A man and woman meet, get married, grow old together and then she dies – of course she freaking dies. The rest of the movie we watch as the old man tries to figure out his life without her. I am explaining this to the children as they are not really sure what is going on and sobbing as I speak. I watch as the old man wanders the house missing his wife, and kissing photos of her. Just like me I thought – exactly like me.

The man decides to continue his wife’s life long dream of going on an adventure. He takes a million balloons, attaches them to his house and away he goes. The story takes a turn and at some point the man must leave his balloon house in order to save a child’s life and the house floats away – lost forever – along with all the photos of his wife. I was utterly devastated for him crying for his loss again. The little boy who was saved says to the old man, I am sorry you lost your house. The old man looks at him, smiles and says, it is just a house.

I sat there transfixed to the screen. I felt like I was watching my entire life unfold in an animated movie. I was so empowered by this man’s courage. It dawned on me that I should be stronger than I am. I need to stop worrying about this house and worry more about my family. I realize most of the time I dwell on silly inconsequential things – like the house and really need to stop looking back. Instead I need to take a long look at where I was, where I want to be and then keep going.

I packed the rest of the day. You can’t possible know how painful it is to take pictures off the wall that I once thought would be hanging here forever. It hurts with each and every one. What upsets me is that I don’t know if I will have the courage to ever put them back up. I took our wedding photo and wrapped it carefully – the smiling faces of a past life looking up at me. But by the end of the day I had almost packed them all.

The house is looking emptier and emptier. I am trying not to feel sad. Instead I am trying to feel empowered by what will hopefully be better for us. We move two weeks from tomorrow, but there is still a lot left to do. It is just not easy to do. Not the packing – that is mundane and basic. But packing up my old life, saying goodbye to what was supposed to be forever – this is difficult, impossible – awful.

My father-in-law called me today to wish me a happy holiday. The moment I heard his voice I started crying. I sucked back the tears so he wouldn’t know how upset I was. I haven’t talked to him in months and the second he started talking I just pictured him speaking to my husband and was so sorry it is just me he is getting on the phone. I find it so difficult to talk to him – I feel like I let him down and just feel so sad for him – words fail me.

The more I pack the more items of my husband I stumble upon. Clothing and things I could not throw away five months ago. I still can’t. I look at his old sweatshirts and think, I really shouldn’t bring this and then in the box it goes. I took his suit, his shirts, his tux and shoes and put them all in a box. It makes me feel like I am bringing him with me. I have no idea where it will go in our new place – all I know is that he is coming.

The week after my husband died someone gave me a little book called Grief Therapy. I never even opened it until today. It has some very poignant sayings inside, but the one that struck me today was “Mourn not just for the loss of what was but also for what will never be. And then gently, lovingly let go.”

This is what I am trying to do today and tomorrow and the next. Pack and purge, physically, mentally and spiritually – for myself and my children. I owe it to my family to do the best I can.

Tomorrow if we are vomit free, I may take the kids to the movies. They want to see “Diary of a Wimpy Kid.” So help me if anyone dies in this movie I will just walk out – and not look back.

Stuck

2010-03-27T17:52:00.000-07:00

OPEN THE DOOR!! Fists pounding. OPEN THE DOOR!! More fists pounding into metal and then me screaming my head off . . . that is how I awoke this morning at 6:22 am - right back in the garage. My heart is racing as I look around and realize I am in bed, not the garage and I try to calm myself down and push, no shove the images as far away from my mind as I can. But they linger and as I desperately try to get back to sleep the images, his face, that day, my life just flatten me like huge heavy stones across my chest.

I stayed in bed feeling the weight of the world crush me and only handed the remote to the kids when they awoke as I hid under the covers. But Sponge Bob and his insane laughter makes sleep an impossibility as do my fears of the recurring nightmare. Besides the children would surely start eating their fingers if I don’t get out of bed soon. So I get up and start the day.

Just another Saturday – 22 weeks - here I go again.

I am so annoyed with myself for being unable to keep these memories at bay. Every photo of my husband in the house – no matter which one I look at turns into his dead body in my mind. I can’t stop looking at the photos because for one brief instance they bring me peace – but then the pain and the awfulness switch on and sorrow soon follows. I can only assume I am either a glutton for punishment or the split second of happy thoughts is worth the pain. I am not sure.

I needed to get out of the house today – I am suffocating in the boxes and the chaos and the anxiety of it all. I needed fresh air. The children and I went to go look at a day camp for the summer. I didn’t love it – not sure I would like anything these days. But it just wasn’t what I pictured for them and thought I could do better at mommy camp then this place. As I drove away I remembered that I saw a lake in the camp’s brochures. It wasn’t on the tour but I distinctively remember seeing one so I made a u-turn and went back.

Right before the camp there was an odd road and I turned onto it not sure that I would find. Blissfully I found the lake and a small beach and a playground and to me it was just perfect. We bundled up, got out of the car and for the next two hours just explored. I taught the kids to skip rocks, we hiked in the woods and they ran around the playground. It was wonderful, even on a Saturday. I could see us going back there just to get away and hide from the world and see a little bit of nature too.

I couldn’t help but feel sad at moments, like when I was sitting on a bench watching the kids run and play. I was lonely and missing the person who should have been sitting next to me. I felt him holding my hand and heard him talking to me – he would have loved today. Well maybe not the hiking through the woods part – but everything else.

What bothers me the most is that I just feel stuck. It has been 22 weeks since my husband died and time means nothing. I am the same I was 22 weeks ago; miserable, sad, confused, lonely and mourning. But I watch as the world unfolds around me. I see spring coming and the earth is changing but I am not. I watch my friend’s lives blossom and grow and change and I am so happy for them – yet I am still stuck in my own little miserable world. Friends are having babies, buying houses, excelling in careers, taking trips and I am just stuck right in the middle of my so called life. I am trying not to look back, but can’t move forward and it feels terrible. Feels like I am being left behind by my husband, the world and my life.

I long for the day that I can awaken and not feel instance sorrow. I long for a time when I can reflect back fondly on my husband and not feel the tightness in my chest and the sourness in my stomach. I don’t know how long I will have to wait – maybe till my next life. I just long for a time when I can look at the world and feel better about myself and everything in it.

Ice Cream

2010-03-24T17:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had three hours to myself. I decided to continue on my quest to packing up the house. Everywhere I look there are memories of you and it makes it quite challenging. I went into your office, looked at all the books, papers and photos of the family. I abruptly walked out and shut the door. Not today.

I went into your tool room and tried to take some of the random bits of wires and junk and throw them away. Instead I found your old photo album when you used to coach your eldest son’s little league. The smiles and love in your face – I just turned around and walked out of that room as well. Not today.

I went to the book shelf and thought books are innocent. I can pack the books – how bad can that be? In the very first book I picked up I found an old love note I once gave you that you used as a book mark. I walked away. Not today.

I ran though the house desperate to find someplace safe to start. My head spinning like a top. I didn’t know where to turn. You are everywhere and yet you are nowhere to be found. You aren’t helping me pack – you are just a ghost smiling from the shadows and I am crying and lost without you.

Then I thought – the freezer downstairs. How bad can chucking out some old meat and defrosting the extra freezer be? I was excited to get something done. I went down armed with a garbage bag ready to get something, anything accomplished. I opened the freezer and there it was; your carton of ice cream. The last thing you ate in this house. I can still picture you sitting on the couch, spoon in hand with the entire carton on your lap savoring every cold mouthful.

The day after you died I took the carton and hid it in the downstairs freezer. I didn’t want anyone to touch it, let alone eat from it. This is my sacred carton of ice cream. I collapsed on the floor of the basement hugging it. I miss you so much that I am clinging to a carton of ice cream just to feel closer to you.

I am pathetic.

I couldn’t throw it out – I just could not. So I put it in a plastic bag and moved it back to the upstairs freezer in the kitchen. I don’t know what to do when I finally move. I have a feeling I am going to want to bring it. I know this is weird – but this is all I have left. I just am incapable of throwing it away and don’t think I will let anyone else do it either. Your love for ice cream used to make me crazy. I would beg you to scoop it into a bowl like a normal person. I would yell that the children would learn this bad habit from you and please use a bowl. Now of course I am grateful you didn’t use a bowl – it make this carton even more special.

After almost three hours I had done nothing but move a carton of ice cream. I pulled myself together and went on through the house searching for safe things to pack. There are none. There isn’t once corner in this house that hasn’t been marked by you in some way.

Everyone wants to come over and help me pack and I just say no thanks. In some way my packing is going to battle and I need to do this by myself. I am facing my demons with every room I enter and every drawer I open. I am trying to bring only the good memories to my new home – I want to leave the demons behind. This does not include the ice cream.

Today I am angry again. I am not sure at whom. I find my emotions flip flop between grief and sadness and anger and hurt. Sometimes I find it is easier to accomplish more when I am angry. These emotions swirl through me and give me strength. The sadness on the other hand sucks the life out of me and I am just a sad sack unable to do anything but mope around in self pity.

I know deep down my husband didn’t choose to leave us – I know that he had a disease and was sick and that is what really killed him. But I feel awful that I didn’t know how sick he was. I feel like a terrible wife for not seeing what was right in front of me. I feel useless and feel betrayed. I am angry at him for not asking for help and angry at me for not realizing he needed it.

The cemetery is calling me – like it does each and every Thursday. Thursdays used to be your day off and we would always do something – even if it was nothing. I always miss you the most on Thursday. But I can’t go tomorrow – I actually won’t let myself. The empty refrigerator is yelling at me and though I would love to ignore it, my children won’t let me. I have packing to do, have to clean for Passover and all the other life stuff that I never have the time for.

A big part of me just wants to get a huge tub of ice cream, go to your grave and just sit with you – even if only for a little while.

Rain Drops & Tears

2010-03-22T18:01:00.000-07:00

This morning was a quiet, rainy and foggy day. I had just dropped my six year old off at school and was pushing the stroller home with my four year old. I turned down our block and there you were. At the other end of the street walking towards us – you were there. I watched as your black hair got drenched in the rain. I watched as your black jacket, black pants and boots walked slowly our way. It took my breath away. I walked very slowly until I was just stuck in the middle of the sidewalk as you came closer and closer to us. I started to shake. I wasn’t sure if you were a ghost, a hallucination or if you were just really back.

What I wanted to do was run straight down the block and throw myself into your arms. I couldn’t wait to hug and kiss you again. I was in awe of your sight. A million thoughts went coursing through my brain and a huge sigh of relief flew through me. Finally you were back and I couldn’t wait to talk to you again. To tell you how much I loved you, how much you were needed and missed. I steadied myself as you were soon approaching. I was just starring at you until the face that was looking down away from the rain finally looked up into mine.

You can’t imagine the disappointment. The devastation I felt when it turned out not to be you. The man was also Chinese, not the white Jewish guy I was expecting. The man walked around me without a word. He barely even acknowledged my presence. He was just a random stranger who for the briefest of moments was my lost love and he will never know what he did to me. First I was relieved that I didn’t actually go jumping into his arms. Then I was just a mess. I was so angry with myself that I could let my imagination run wild. I just cried uncontrollable sobs upset with myself and world yet again. Rainy days are actually perfect for me – you can’t tell the difference between rain drops and tears.

I was visibly shaken for the rest of the walk home – cursing at my idiocy and only relieved that my four year old, who was tongue out catching rain drops missed the entire episode. I walked faster than fast and got us home. I went upstairs, washed the mascara off my face and headed out the door again. My daughter was off to school and then I drove to New Jersey to work. Just another day in this so called life of mine.

Moments like these are beyond comprehension. Beyond painful. They are almost self inflicted torture. I thought about this encounter the entire drive to work. How could I really have thought it was him? I was truly convinced for a brief instant that it was my dead husband – alive and well. I can’t explain it – not even to myself. But there was this moment – this definitive moment where I stood in the rain and my husband was walking toward me. For an instant I was filled with bliss. I can actually remember my heart warming up and my smile twitching. It makes the emptiness in my soul feel the cold that much more and my smile is just trapped in a far away place.

My six year old asked me tonight why did daddy have to die. Why couldn’t someone else die instead? I looked at him with my sorrow filled eyes and said I was sorry. Sometimes I don’t know what else to say. It feels like empty words coming out of my mouth. He doesn’t need advice – doesn’t need to hear anything. I just think he needs to talk and get it out. I find the less I say the more he talks to me. I can’t tell him anymore that daddy is dead and we are alive and have to life our life and move forward. Even a six year old knows bullshit when he hears it. So I listen to him talk and see him struggle to push away the tears. I tell him the truth – daddy would be so proud of you if he were alive.

The worst part of. The very absolute worst part is that someday I am going to have to tell them that you didn’t have to die. You chose death. You did this to yourself. You took yourself away. Just thinking about having to say these words is enough to send me in a downward spiral of tears and nausea. The tears that come are hot and angry. Because not only am I left to clean up this awful mess – I have to explain it. I have to try and explain the unexplainable to your children. I only hope that when the day comes I understand more and know more. But the reality is that I don’t know anymore than I did 21 weeks ago and I don’t think I ever will.

I pray that when the awful day comes that I have to say the words out loud the children and I are in a better place. A stronger state of mind – stronger mentally spiritually – anything but what we are now. For better or for worse I have time on my side. A four and six year old will hopefully not ask the questions I fear most to answer any time soon. Especially not when I have days where I see you walking down the street like you never died. I am not ready to face the harsh reality that will someday be my destiny. Maybe I never will.

Thankfully for now they are blissfully ignorant and easily distracted. I wish I could say the same about me. I only hope when they do someday ask we are outside on a rainy day.

That Girl

2010-03-21T17:34:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not I haven’t cried once this weekend. Maybe it is because as my friend put it, I have cried a lifetime worth of tears in the past 21 weeks. Maybe my tear ducts are empty – I don’t know. I am just trying to ignore what is right in front of me. The move, the holidays and the rest of my life. If I let myself sit back and think about all that I must do and what I have been through, I could just cry forever. But I have learned quite a lot over time and the one thing I know to be true is that crying doesn’t fix anything. If crying was a solution there wouldn’t be any more problems in the world – I would have solved them all.

The only time I came close to tears was when people would see me out and ask me how I am doing. I would start to answer “fine” and then would choke on the words, have to reel in my emotions and flash my phony smile. I would be so much better if people would just stop talking to me altogether.

We spent a lot of time outdoors this weekend which was quite nice. Though I dwell in a big city, I live in a small neighborhood. Everyone knows me. Everyone knows my story. It doesn’t bother me that much. I feel a little bit like I am under a microscope at times, but really I don’t care. People are nicer to me than they normally would be - probably out of pity which does irk me, but as time heals my wounds I am hoping that others will just forget.

Actually what bothers me the most is my left hand. Normally I never think that much about my missing rings. But when I leave the house, I feel like my ring finger is glowing and that sparks are flying out and that everyone is starring at my missing wedding band. I am so self conscious about not wearing it I keep my hand in my pocket as much as possible. Sometimes I find myself turning a ring that isn’t there – the ghost ring.

Deep down I just miss wearing it. I miss the symbolism that surrounds the ring. I miss the man who gave it to me. I have been thinking about turning the ring into something I can wear – other than a ring. I have no idea what I want. It is hard to think about the ring too much – I almost want it to magically appear in my jewelry box. Maybe it will come to me in a dream.

I took my daughter for her first visit to a beauty parlor to chop off her long golden locks. Her hair usually looks like a rat’s nest as she won’t let me brush it and I just need to find the easy answer in everything these days.

The woman was extremely nice and asked me a million questions as she cut away at my baby’s beautiful hair. She wanted to know why I don’t have her style my hair. Why don’t I come to her when I am going out, blah blah blah. I tried to answer her questions without revealing details. But at some point my evasiveness was getting awkward and finally said, I am not really into how I look these days as my husband died five months ago. She stopped mid-cut and looked at me. You’re that girl, she whispered. I flashed my phony smile and said yes, I am that girl. Then she came around the chair and gave me a big hug and said, do you have any idea how strong you are? I just nodded. I had no idea you were so young, she said. I laughed out loud and then she started asking me a million more questions that I didn’t want to answer. But she is a hair dresser after all so I’ll forgive her.

I hate when people tell me I am strong. Several people have told me the same thing over the weekend and I hate it every time I hear it. Hate it. I am not strong. Especially when I feel like I am seconds away from sobbing hysterically for no reason, green jeeps send me into panic attacks and I am haunted by my dead husband’s ghost. I am not strong – I just have no other choice.

No one said to me you can either lie in bed everyday crying and feeling sorry for yourself while you ponder the what if's OR you can raise your children to be good and kind, cook their meals, take them to school, help do homework, take them to Dr. appointments and play dates, entertain them, clean the house, go to work, take care of anything and everything thrown your way, visit your dead husband’s grave and just carry on. There was no choice. There was no fork in the road. There is survival and that is it. This isn’t bravery or something to be proud of – not even close.

So no, I do not know how strong I am - not this girl.

Forget Me Not

2010-03-18T17:39:00.000-07:00

I have been spending all my time trying to forget. Trying to push away all the awful memories that have haunted me these past few months. I have been trying to forget the terrible images that have invaded my head and how horrible I feel. It is not working.

What I fear now is forgetting the important parts. As the move inches closer and closer, I fear of forgetting you. I am terrified of losing you after we move. It is hard being in this house, seeing you everywhere. But when we move – that is it. There are no more new memories of you – just old ones.

I sat at dinner the other night with the children and we tried to recall all your corny jokes. They remember more than me. I am trying to find a happy medium of forgetting the image of you dying and remembering your beautiful face. It is a battle. It is a fight. It is sad and scary.

I went to the cemetery today. I have been gone so long and have missed you. My feet followed the path I now know so well and I didn’t get lost. I sat at your grave and cried. I sat under the warm sun just crying for you. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I go – it never feels like you can really be there. Sometimes I want to dig into the ground, just to really see for myself. My head knows you are dead, but my heart just doesn’t want to believe you are gone forever.

I told you about the children. About report cards and reading levels and the temper tantrums. I told you we were moving. I just talked and talked. You said nothing. I asked the air if you were here with me and when the wind blew I took it as a yes. I am grasping at straws, but I need something. I need some connection to you, because after we move I fear I will have lost them all.

I stared at the pile of dirt and feel like it is symbolic of my life now. Just one big pile of dirt that I am trying to clean up. I told you I was sorry. I told you I feel like a terrible wife for allowing this to happen. I know this isn’t my fault. But still, when your husband chooses death over life with you – you feel terrible about yourself. You just do.

I told you that I thought you make a bad choice when you decided to kill yourself. I talked to you about all the other ways we could have solved our problems. The only thing that has ever really mattered to me was keeping our family together. This has always been the only thing important to me and you knew this. Yet here you lie – dead to the world. You took the only thing I ever wanted away from me and it hurts – it still really hurts.

I thought about our life together and where do I go from here. It seems a long and treacherous road lies ahead. I can’t see beyond the next turn and only hope it is brighter than what I am leaving behind. I am trying not to drown in my own self pity and grief. I am trying to look ahead and feel better about the future. I am pained when I sit in the park with the children and seen fathers with their kids playing and laughing. I am devastated for them over and over. I just wish he could be here with us. I just wish a lot of things.

Tonight at dinner the children cried for you. It came out of nowhere and I wonder if they knew I went to see you today. I feel sometimes my visits spark their tears as if I brought a little piece of you home and they can sense it.

Your son took a picture of the two of you off the wall and just held it in his hands – stroking your face in the photo and asking you to come home. It is awful to watch this and feel hopeless beyond belief. It angers me and saddens me and makes me want to scream. But the moment didn’t last long. I told him we would hang the photo back up in his new room and the tears quickly went away.

I am trying to talk about you and remember you in the best way possible. I want the children and I to laugh at what you loved and think about you without sorrow. I just fear as time moves on and memories fade what I will be left with. The images that haunt or the sweet memories that I need.

I haven’t slept well all week – when I do sleep my dreams are littered with packing anxiety and dead bodies. It is a terrible combination and makes me not want to sleep at all.

Four weeks until we move. I have packed two boxes. At this rate I will be ready to move by the end of the year. I packed the two boxes today after the cemetery. It is difficult to wrap each item that once held such potential. The pudding cups I remember registering for because you loved them. The platter with our last name, the cake plate; these objects which once filled my heart with hope and optimism of a new life now feel empty and cold. I supposed in someway I am facing my demons. I must look at all my stuff with new eyes. It is amazing how losing someone can just put everything into a different perspective.

I view my life and the whole world in just a different way now. Not worse, not better, just very different.

Sunday

2010-03-14T17:57:00.000-07:00

Everyday is like Sunday. Everyday is silent and gray. Not my words – they belong to Morrissey. But I feel them just them same.

I am angry today and can’t figure out exactly what is bothering me. I have a plethora of choices, but I just can’t seem to pinpoint what IT is. Maybe I am angry that this is my lot in life. That my husband chose to end his life leaving me just here; feeling alone, confused, sad and scared. I feel like everyday is exactly the same and this angers me too.

Everyday that I wake up should be viewed more positively. I should wake up each day thanking G-d for all the blessings bestowed upon me. Be thankful for my wonderful children, my health, my family and friends. Instead I wake up angry that once again it is just me – all alone to face the day - another Sunday.

Somehow today I am more upset than yesterday. I decided yesterday I was getting tired of crying every Saturday. The tears caught up with me and today I am just bewildered that five months have past. It is not that his death doesn’t seem real – it does feel real now. It gets more real every day. Maybe it is the move that is fast approaching. That I am really going to leave this house. I am terrified by the idea of moving. I am not sure which worries me more. That I can sit in my kitchen and picture his every move or that I will soon be in a new kitchen and I won’t see him it all.

I am haunted by his presence and yet I fear that when we move I will lose the only thing I have left of him – images of him all over this house. I just can’t believe it has been five months since I have talked to him, that he has made me laugh like no one else can. I can’t believe it has been five months without nothingness, the loving married nonsense of nothing that you live for and don’t even know you live for until it is gone.

I am rambling now – I just can’t get my thoughts together. I am just so sad and angry today and miss him terribly. I feel like a broken record. Feel like I am just playing the same song over and over. Maybe it is the rain, or losing an hour of sleep or maybe this is just how grieving feels. The roller coaster of emotions that hits without warning and without permission. Grief doesn’t seem to abide by any set of rules and just takes over my soul. Grieving is time consuming and eats away at you until you just feel like an empty shell.

I promised my son today after sitting at the table crying for no reason that I would be a better mommy after we moved. He told me I was a pretty good mommy now. I cried harder. He laughed at me. Apparently the children are so immune to my tears they are unfazed by them – or maybe they aren’t and they hide what they are really feeling. Which makes me want to cry more.

The Jewish holidays are approaching and I don’t even care. It won’t bother me that he won’t be there. These holidays are only difficult because it bothers everyone else. The family will be looking at the empty chair by my side and giving me sad smiles. They are not used to the empty chair. I live every day, every moment with an empty chair at my side. The holidays are just another day to me.

These awful sad feeling have got to subside soon. I mean at some point I have to have reached my full capacity for sorrow. At some point won’t my brain just say – “Hey, you know what – I think we are good here – you won’t feel sadness anymore – you have reached your lifetime quota of sorrow and tears.” I am waiting for the message to come down from my brain to tell my heart. I am waiting because enough already – really!

Then my brain will say - Get packing, stop crying and for the love of G-d wake up tomorrow and appreciate what you have already. Hopefully my heart will listen.

Lessons

2010-03-12T18:21:00.000-08:00

I guess it was inevitable that I would get sick. The only silver lining was that I didn’t miss work or therapy and have amazing friends. Though my sister is furious with me for not calling her for help – she is forty minutes away and my friends are two. Sorry R – I know you are there for me always.

I did something horrible in the midst of my puking and learned a valuable lesson. It was Thursday night – 7 pm and I had just finished throwing my guts up. I had somehow gotten through dinner (pizza bagels served on the floor in front of the TV so I could lie on the couch) and was trying to get the kids to put their pajamas on so I could get them into bed. They were not listening and were running around and my world was spinning – literally. I started yelling at them to get dressed. They ignored me. So then I started yelling that I was so disappointed and couldn’t count on them when I really needed them and they weren’t here for me in my time of need. Then I stopped in mid scream and just started crying. Because I realized as the words were spewing from my mouth that I wasn’t talking to them. I was yelling at you. I was so sick and really needed you home to help me and you aren’t here – you are freaking dead!

As soon as the words passed my lips and I really heard what I was saying I knew they were not meant for my children. Even though I was so upset with myself I stopped crying. I looked at the two of them through my bleary eyes and told them how sorry I was for yelling and didn’t mean anything I just said. They looked at me confused by my quick change of pace and then went on not listening again. No damage done. But I realized in that moment that I do this a lot. I yell at the children when I am angry and frustrated, not so much at them, but at you. I am yelling at you through them and this is not helping anyone. You of course can’t even hear me – so what is the point?

Today I am better and am able to reflect a little about what I learned at therapy. There were three newbies there. People who have lost loved ones more recently than me. They reminded me of the first time I went. They cried a lot and had that lost and confused look on their faces. Though I still cry and look lost, I felt horrible for them. I wanted to give them all hugs and tell them that everything would be OK. But it would be a lie. Because nothing seems to ever feel like it will be OK ever again. The theme of the night was “mystery”. That each and every one of us are left with unanswerable questions to why our loved ones took their own life. The mystery of how this could have happened and the guilt we feel because maybe we could have done something differently. Knowing that everyone else feels as lost and confused as I should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.

Tomorrow is five months. What have I leaned in five months. Nothing at all. Maybe this is why I left therapy feeling like maybe this isn’t enough for me. Maybe just being in a room with people who can relate to me better than anyone else in the world isn’t enough to make me whole again. There is a woman who lost her husband and has three children. She says that she will never be happy again. Never. I feel like I understand where she is coming from. The only thing that would truly make me happy again is to have my husband alive and for my children to have their father back. That would truly only make me happy too.

But the reality is that this will never happen. He has taken himself away from us forever. I hate the idea of never being happy again. My children deserve better than this, better than what I am right now. I don’t want to be sad mommy forever and I don’t think my dead husband would want this of me either. There has to be something in between never being happy again and missing my dead husband forever. There has to be someway to climb out of this pit of despair I have landed in. I don’t even know where to begin; how to close up this huge gaping hole in my soul. I am not sure what it is I am searching for. All I know is that I owe it to my children to at least start looking.

Maybe this means I need more therapy. Maybe it means I need drugs. I am not sure. Maybe it just means I need to fix everything that is not working right now in my life. Maybe I just need to get past this move and settle into someplace new. Spring will come and the sun will be shining and maybe I will want to go outside again. Maybe I will even smile and mean it.

I can’t believe it has been five months since you are gone. I feel like these past five months I have lived a lifetime. It feels like you have been gone five minutes. I could sit and cry for hours on end if I let myself. I just don’t let myself get so upset anymore – there isn’t any time.

I was so very angry with you yesterday. I could not believe how many people I had to call to ask for help and none of it would have been necessary if you were alive. I really needed you home to help me and I guess I know what I am really thinking. This is only the beginning of times where I need you and you aren’t here. It doesn’t help being angry at you. I guess I just really miss you so very much and spend so much time trying hard not to miss you, that when I can’t help it – when your absence is so apparent - it feels like you died all over again.

Tomorrow is another Saturday. I will not pack again I am sure. I will snuggle in bed with the kids and make them pancakes and we will try and figure out the day – just another Saturday without you.

Falling Apart

2010-03-08T19:04:00.000-08:00

I sat in traffic today instead of racing home in time to pick up my son from school. It didn’t matter that I had someplace to be – traffic can’t merge and I am freaking out. While I sat and sat and tried very hard not to ram my car into the person in front of me, just because, I realized that I am very much on the verge of falling apart.

I have been trying for so long to get through this awfulness. I am raising my children everyday and keeping them healthy, happy and safe. I am working. I am packing and moving. I am trying to keep my head above water and then a traffic jam occurs and I am an emotional wreck. I am just sitting and not moving and soon enough I am crying and crying. Then my Ipod battery dies. So there I am, sitting in Jersey waiting for someone to get a clue in the driver’s seat, left all alone with just my thoughts – not good. So very not good.

I am falling apart at the seams. I feel like I have been torn into pieces and they are exposed to the world. I feel as though I am trying to climb upward but there is a giant weight crushing me preventing me from accomplishing anything – anything at all. There is just too much going on.

My daughter is crying and won’t go to school. My lawyer won’t return my phone calls and I am sitting in the stupid car about to be very late to pick up my child. Maybe these things seems trite. They probably once did to me – if I just had one thing to worry about maybe it all wouldn’t feel so bad. But every single day something gets added to the top of the stress pile and nothing gets taken away.

I did decide one thing today while stuck in the car. I am going to get the children therapy. I think I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. That we would all be fine and not need any help. I can’t deny what is right in front of me anymore. I can’t wait till we move. I can’t pretend like we aren’t all falling apart a little more each day. I asked my son the other day if he would like to go talk to someone about daddy – or not talk about daddy and just say whatever he is feeling and thinking. My son, who doesn’t like change and doesn’t want to do anything but watch Sponge Bob, said maybe. This is a huge maybe to me – this is a yes mom what the hell are you waiting for maybe.

Now it is just a matter of finding the right person at the right time at the right place. No problem. I cried the entire trip today out of sheer frustration and anxiety. I just have so much to do and don’t know where to start. My friends keep offering, no wait, demanding to help. They want my to-do list so they can get things going. I can’t even write the to-do list down, it scares and overwhelms me. Maybe tomorrow.

I am going to move next month on my birthday. I decided it will be the worst birthday ever; I might as well inflict more torture on myself and leave my home and all my happy memories on this day. It doesn’t matter. I hate my birthday and won’t be getting a corny card from my husband this year telling me how much he loves me. I might as well distract myself from what I will be thinking about all day and just move. Maybe it will be a giant symbolic out with the old in with the new day. Goodbye horrible year 38 and welcome bright and better year 29. (not a typo – so not ever going to write or say that number out loud) At least I will have a great excuse to eat a giant chocolate cake by myself and consume too much alcohol.

Therapy is Wednesday. The timing is perfect. I can’t wait to walk in and announce to the group that I am falling apart, hate the world and am haunted by my husband. It should be a good night all around.

As I sat in the car, I did think a lot about my husband today. I wonder all the time how he could have gone through with this. How he could have walked into that garage knowing he would never walk out. I hate when I think about it and yet I am so obsessed with how he really could have possibly done such a thing to the children and I. The only grasp on his state of mind that I keep coming back to is that he really and truly believed we would all be better off without him. I find this so deeply ironic, it chills me. Because if he could only see us now. How awful we all are. How we are moving because he’s gone – how we are left with deep grieving scars because he is gone- how we are all falling apart because he is gone. It is almost funny how very wrong he was.

I wasn’t late to get my son. I got there with two minutes to spare. I didn’t crash my car into anyone for the sake of feeling better. I picked up the children, got homework done, made dinner and read them bedtime stories. I didn’t even yell tonight. I was a good mom. I am not packing tonight – again.

Instead I am going to get a needle and thread and sew up my unraveling seams. I need to be whole for my family tomorrow and don’t have any time for falling apart.

Is That All You got?

2010-03-05T18:56:00.000-08:00

I am not even sure I can write tonight. I may just be too upset and angry and over the edge. Shocking I know. But I push myself tonight because if I don’t get these feeling out of my system I may burst.

I feel like I have not had five minutes to myself to mourn my husband. Since the moment he died I have been racing from one catastrophe to the next. I am constantly dealing with numerous impossible situations without ever taking a break. I still wake up each day in utter disbelief, nod at his ghost lurking in the shadows and then run to the next disaster that awaits me. It never stops. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

If someone were to sit down and write the worst case scenarios of a person’s life; were to write about whatever could possibly go wrong for one person – they need only follow this blog.

How much can one person endure in such a short time? Forget about the fact that I have one dead husband and two small children – plus an older step-son dealing with all the death and pain and guilt, now add selling a house and packing and moving. Now factor in cleaning up the enormous mess my husband left in my lap. Now add that I went from a stay-at-home mom to a working single mother – add this all up and what do you get – me! Exhausted, insane, stressed to the max just me.

Every single time I think I have gone through the worst of it, every single time I think I have turned a corner, every single time I think maybe today I can sit back and take a breath and just be – some wrench that feels larger than life gets thrown straight at my skull.

I don’t know what to worry about first. I don’t know which way to turn. I am spinning in circles of confusion and doubt and the worst part is that I have no control at all. I feel like my destiny has been written and the lines are zigzagged, drawn by a three year old with a bold black marker. I hate this – really.

My four year old has become impossible. One day she announced she was quitting ballet. Though I know she loves it, she just refuses to go. She complains about going to school and cries on the days she must go full time so I can go to work. I let her quit ballet but obviously must stay strong about school. Regardless I worry and feel awful every time she cries. I hate my husband on these days because this is his fault. The hating doesn’t help – well maybe a little. But is this change in her a delayed reaction to her dead daddy or is this normal four year behavior? Is she trying to become more independent or is she just trying to make me crazy? How the hell am I supposed to know what is going on? All I know is the awful feelings and worry that live in my soul. I know mom, we all need therapy. It is on my to-do list.

Tonight at bedtime my six year old started asking me questions about what happens to your body when you die. “If your brain stops working does it go to heaven with you? He asked. I said no. When you die your heart stops beating and your brain doesn’t work and your body just shuts down. “What is shut down?” he asked. It is like an off switch I say. But your soul – the part of you which makes you special goes to heaven. “Well how does it come out?” he asks. I said didn’t know. “I think it comes out through your belly button,” he says. Maybe I respond. “Or maybe it comes out your mouth,” he states. I told him whatever he thought was probably right. This went on for a long time – just what I wanted to talk about on a day like today.

He wasn’t sad when he asked. He was just trying to understand the concept. I could see the wheels in his brain turning as he tried to scientifically figure out where the hell his dead father is.

I wanted to yell and scream at my husband I am so upset with him today. But I can’t. The worst part is that no matter what I deal with, whatever problems I face - he is still dead and there is no one to blame for this mess I am in. I am left feeling angry and sad and just so tired of this all. I am forced to write it all down so I don’t stat screaming at my computer which will do nothing but wake my children.

I want to go to your grave and pound at the dirt and cry and yell and scream at you. But I won’t. I usually end up feeling horrible on these angry days – because you are dead and missing out on this beautiful life. You are missing your children every single day so how can I be angry with you. You were the one suffering and blaming yourself for your failings – how can I be angry at you. So I am just left to be angry at the world.

I just want one thing, just one single thing to go smoothly for me. Am I asking too much? Can I just have something work out for me – please!

I know sometimes I feel very alone – but my friends and family call too much and stop by and help too much for this feeling to last too long.

I may be having a bad day today – one of the most frustrating days in awhile and I know it can always be worse. I just hope for once it will get better.

Puke Day

2010-03-02T17:04:00.000-08:00

Apparently all my talking about vomit gave me an eyin harah (evil eye for those not of the tribe). Both my children were up all night puking. I didn’t cry and get upset my husband wasn’t here to help. Mostly there just wasn’t any time to dwell on his absence. But somehow over the last few months something in me has changed. I no longer feel resentment over his absence. I have come to terms with being alone. I don’t look for help where there is none – I am just used to it. Is this how my life is going to be? Getting used to him being dead. I hate this. I still miss him and cry almost everyday, but some how my brain has moved along into survival mode. I am trying to survive this ordeal all by myself.

So now I am trying pack in a house that smells like puke and keep the children from vomiting into open boxes. As well, all they want to do is take things out that I have already packed – this is just so much fun.

I told the children on Saturday that we are moving. I didn’t cry. It took a lot for me not to cry. Instead I told them that we are all going on an exciting new adventure. We are going to pack up all our things and move to a different place. I told them about the big basement with a piano that comes with the house. How much closer we will be to our friends and about the great new backyard that we can go explore. They were fine. Even a little excited. They didn’t ask me why – at least not right away.

About three hours later my six year old is in the bathroom peeing. He turns to look at me in the hallway and proceeds to pee all over the bathroom as he asks, why do we have to move? I sigh and tell him to finish in the bathroom and then we would talk. First I said the house was too big for us and he got a little upset. So then I said that mommy is working really hard, but we have to find a place that is not so expensive. My daughter chimed in that the house cost $50 so we have to move. I said yes. The next day my son asked me again why we are moving. He doesn’t seem to recall any of the answers I give him the day before. I try and remember which answer upset him the least. This time I say, well the new house has fewer rooms for mommy to have to clean. He smiles and agrees it would be better for us. I am sure he will ask again. I am running out of answers.

I don’t think the full reality of the move has sunk in for them. I try and talk about it a little everyday. I encourage them to tell their friends and teachers about our exciting news. My daughter keeps asking when. I tell her around my birthday. She wants to take pictures of all the rooms. I tell her that is a fantastic idea. I am relieved that the news has gone over so well. I worry about what is yet to upset them. Scary new noises, new shadows and just change. They are both like me and we all live for our consistency. I am trying to put on a happy face for them and not cry every time I pack a box or throw something of daddy’s away.

But all I really want to do is cry and scream and sob and cry some more. My fake smile is not helping me embrace this situation. Although I am packing, kind of, I am in serious denial that we are going to leave soon. There is so much to be done and I just do not want to deal with any of it. I have to call movers, I have to buy more boxes – but all of this is real and I don’t want it to be real. I want it all to go away.

I am living an impossible life these days. I miss my husband so very much and just wish he was here. That is all I want and the one thing I can never have. It feels awful. I feel sick to my stomach and am not sure if it’s the virus or just my usual nausea taking over.

I guess if the next blog has a vomit or puke title you will all know the outcome.

Vomit

2010-02-26T17:28:00.000-08:00

Things are moving faster than I ever imagined. I might have to move sooner than I thought. I was worried and upset over the past few weeks, because I didn’t know when I was going to have to move. Now I almost know. Now I want to vomit more than I did yesterday.

I looked at an apartment today. It is maybe 15 houses from my home. Same block, same neighborhood. The same and yet very unbelievably different. I told them I would take it. I barely care. I should probably go look at lots of places. I don’t have the strength or the will to do so. This fell into my lap and I am just going with it. I actually just don’t care. All I know is it’s not my house and not my own. Nothing else seems to matter. I tried to picture us living there and wanted to vomit even more. I hate change. No I loathe change. Change seems to be the only constant there is in my life. This is too much. I can’t breathe. I must remind myself to take breaths, because otherwise I may just forget.

My friend came over today and helped me pack. She was amazing. I just sat there and watched. Now there are boxes everywhere and I am suffocating. I almost told the children we are moving. Maybe I will tell them tomorrow. Another miserable Saturday. Maybe tomorrow I will put on my game face and tell them the truth. We have to move because I see your dead father everywhere I look. This is partly true. I won’t actually say this. I promise.

I feel like telling them is a great hurdle I must face and I need to get it over with already. I lie in bed at night worrying about everything. Now I have new things to worry about. Because there just wasn’t enough to think about last night; now I will wonder how my furniture will fit. How will I take apart their bunk beds and will my son be allergic to the dog upstairs? I can’t breathe again.

I am not sure how I am supposed to do this all. There is no time in my life for everything as it is. How am I supposed to fit this major move in? I just don’t want to go and I want to leave tomorrow. This house is golden handcuffs. I see my dead husband everywhere and stay away from some rooms because I can’t bear it, yet this house is my foundation. The one constant I have had all these months. The house is my sanctuary where I can hide from the world. It is comforting to me and nothing else feels right. I am so tired of not being normal and the world is upside down and it is all out of my control.

I hate change and want everything to be the way it once was. But this is just not possible. Nothing will ever be the same again and it seems to be going on and on this way. Change and more change and I just want my life back. Please just let me have my life back!!!

To say that I am overwhelmed is almost funny. I just want to vomit. I just want to feel human again and wonder when this happens. I wonder how he thought we would be better off without him. How my husband thought his death was any kind of solution. I know I shouldn’t dwell on thoughts like these. I know that this thinking gets me nowhere. But I can’t help it. I just wish I could have done something different so life would not be what it is right now.

Change and chaos – that is all I am living in. I still feel like this is happening to someone else. That I am going through the motions but none of it is real. That I will wake tomorrow and all will be as it should. Everything is happening so fast and I can’t catch up. I am ten steps behind my life. I fall further behind every single day. This sucks.

I hope I am making the right decision. I hope my children can be happy in this new place. I hope that for once in my pathetic life change will be for the better. I hope I just don’t vomit.

Pinball Wizard

2010-02-24T17:51:00.000-08:00

This is really funny. I am trying to pack. This is freaking hilarious. I am trying to get my house ready for other people to want it. I mean this is really the funniest thing I have said all month. If I didn’t think this was so funny, I would be crying too hard to type.

I drove to work this morning in the pouring rain and blasted “Black Dog” as loud as I could take it – hoping you could hear it in heaven. I was playing you a song to drown out the sobs and curses that were spewing from me the entire trip.

Please G-d - please don’t let this be real. I just don’t know how much I can take. This has been the most overwhelming few months and I can’t breath. The anxiety might actually have gotten the better of me. I am back to being a shell again. I am going to work and taking care of my children, but I am so numb and so stunned that I just don’t know. I just want this struggle to be over, but really I just want you to come home and tell me to stop packing.

Yesterday I tried to start. I felt like a pinball moving around to different points in the house for brief moments. I would get overwhelmed looking at something and move to a new spot, get upset again and move to a different spot. This went on for hours – I packed nothing. Sorry T.

I started with the books. I thought this will be easy I can get rid of his books. But then I thought, what if my children would someday want their father’s books, I can’t get rid of these. They are so personal and tell so much about his likes. So I moved on to the movies. I thought this will be easier. But I can’t give away his movies. In ten years when the children will be age appropriate to watch them, they will want to know their father’s favorite movies. I can’t get rid of them because what if in ten years I can’t remember what is favorite movies were and they will be so angry I don’t know these things. I left the movies alone. I went looking for his cd’s and remembered blissfully that I already gave everything to his eldest son. I found four cassette tapes. I threw out two.

I felt so much better after I threw out the two tapes I moved on to the filing cabinet. I found all my honeymoon photos and maps and receipts waiting to go into a scrapbook that is half done. I pondered what to even do with this stuff. I put everything back into the filing cabinet.

I read every single Birthday, Anniversary and Mother’s Day card my husband has ever given me. I saved them all over the years. They all have poems in them – most of the go like this:

Roses are red
Violet are blue
I love you
Even though you are covered in vomit and poo

I didn’t just cry when I read them – I wept for hours and hours. I put everything back in the filing cabinet exactly where I found them.

So I pretty much spent all day wandering around the house and threw out two cassette tapes.

Not a bad start.

All week I can feel the start of something. I can sense the Fab Five are going to soon take over. I can hear them somewhere out there arming themselves for battle. They will come quick and sure and get my butt in gear. I feel bad for them – I plan on putting up quite a fight.

Word of advice to my Fab Five – good luck and bring tissues. Oh and beer.

Freak Out Girl

2010-02-22T19:01:00.000-08:00

You can’t possibly know the freak out occurring in my brain these days. I am trying to fight the freak out and some days calm me is able to rationally keep my other evil self at bay. But lately freak out girl – she is on a roll.

I am going to move. There I said it. I am going to leave my home for the last five years. The only home my children have ever known and the place where I see my dead husband wandering around daily.

This may not seem like such a big deal to some. Maybe someday I will read this blog and wonder why I was freaking out. But today, I have several hundred reasons why I find this acceptable fodder for freaking out.

I have moved 20 times in my life. Yes, 20 times I have packed up all my stuff and moved somewhere else. When my husband and I finally bought this house all I thought was - I will never have to move again. Since I am 7 years old and the constant exodus began, I have only wanted someplace to call my own. Moving to this house was my husband’s 21st move. He never wanted to move again either.

There are two things I never wanted my children to experience that I did as a child. Living in a house without a father and moving from place to place. I am officially two for two. I feel like I have failed my children on so many ridiculous levels it is mind blowing. I have now literally given them my horrible childhood and even gone above and beyond the horrors any child should know. I should get a trophy.

The worst part about having to move, well I am not sure yet, but I have a list. It starts with not being able to paint the walls black, worrying the children will break something that doesn’t belong to me, never feeling like we are really home and not ever wanting to put pictures on the wall; because when you start to move from rental to rental - you just never stop.

I wish I could ask my husband what to do. I wish I could cry to him and tell him what is happening to us. I wish he were here to help me pack. I hate packing and I hate looking around at all the objects I have accrued through this marriage and wonder what am I supposed to do now.

I have not told my children yet. My mother warned me not to say anything too soon. If I told them today they would be asking me for the next few months, “When are we moving? Are we moving tomorrow? Where are we going? How many more sleeps?” I have no answers for them.

My mother also told me to make the move sound exciting. Every time we moved she made it sound like we were going on an amazing new adventure and we couldn’t wait to move. I need to get rid of freak out girl before I tell the children. I need to keep a huge smile on my face and look excited. If am crying while I tell them, they are never going to believe me when I say this is going to be great. I certainly don’t believe this at all. So I will wait until I can control my emotions; until I have a clue as to the where and when.

The whole world is open to us now. I could close my eyes and point to a place on the map and say we are going there. I could really go anywhere at this point. But the truth is, I just want to stay in my neighborhood. I am surrounded by the familiar and friendly. I love this place. I love the people and I love the strangers. I love not having to explain my daily tears and the comfort my children have from living in a warm and friendly environment. I may be losing my house but I will not let us lose our home too.

So for now I will try and fight my misery. I will push the thought away that sometime soon I will have to hand my dream house over to another family; for their dreams to flourish while mine are crashing to pieces. I will try and not think about the wonderful times we had here and how much I love my house.

I will try not to think about all that I have lost these past four months. My husband, my dreams, my joy and now my house. Everything I thought was important I have lost. All I am left with is my inner strength which is being taken over by freak out girl.

My children are the most important thing and I need to remember this when freak out girl is winning. I will remind myself over the next few weeks that this house is just four walls. All that matters is my healthy, amazing, happy family. What is in between the four walls is the only thing that is really important.

Tooth Fairy

2010-02-21T18:06:00.000-08:00

I am so done with this all and am ready for you to come home now. The joke is over – it is not funny anymore. Please come home now.

This really cannot be possible. This cannot be true. You cannot be dead. It feels so terribly wrong and part of me is just unwilling to accept it. The longer time goes on the more unrealistic this all feels. I actually dug your note out today because I think this is all one big freaking joke and totally can’t be happening. But your note is a harsh reminder that this did happen. You are truly dead and not coming back ever. Somehow this happened without any warning and I feel very small and sad and the what if’s are just terrible these days. Just plain awful.

Yesterday I woke up in battle mode. I was ready to take this Saturday on and not let it get to me. I didn’t cry and I didn’t wallow in misery – at least not right away. I took the children to the earliest movie I could to battle some demons, “The Tooth Fairy”. There is no father in this movie, which I was kind of happy about. But the mother does have a boyfriend, who proposes at the end. So after the kids were done trying to pry their teeth out for money, they asked me when I was getting a boyfriend to marry. I suggested we go to the supermarket and buy apples to work on prying their teeth out. They left the boyfriend question unanswered. I am seriously done with the movies forever!

At the market this crazy old lady approached me to tell me how lucky I am to have a beautiful boy and girl. I smiled politely, thanked her and moved away. She proceeds to follow me saying again and again how lucky I am. I am nodding and smiling, but after ten minutes of her going on and on and on I just want to turn to her and say; “Lady, my husband killed himself 17 weeks ago – luck is for other people.” But I didn’t. I went to the next aisle and started looking at rat poisoning instead and she left me alone.

The rest of the day was fine. Just fine.

Today is another story. Today was a beautiful day and I stayed inside the whole day. I just did not want to see the sunshine. I did not want to feel warm air on my face. I keep thinking that come spring I will be better. Come spring when the icy world defrosts and everything will be reborn again, so will I. That come spring I will be in a better frame of mind. But what if I am not? What if I stay icy and frozen inside as the world blossoms? I couldn’t risk the world smelling like spring when I am still a total mess. So we just stayed inside and hid.

I can’t even write about what is really bothering me and keeping me up at nights. But soon I will have to get it out. I can’t freak out on my own without my blog. I may just need to vent big time – but not now.

Tonight I am just still bewildered. People I know don’t kill themselves. People I know don’t go through this. I feel like I am living in a bad Hallmark channel movie and am waiting for the director to come in and feed me my lines. I don’t know what to do next and I don’t know what the future holds. I hate this.

Maybe tomorrow I will buy the children caramel and we will really get those teeth out; anything to distract me from reality. I hope it snows tomorrow.

Dreams

2010-02-19T18:08:00.000-08:00

Tuesday night you finally came back to me, if only for a moment. I dreamt of you, peacefully, for the first time ever. I believe I only remembered the dream, even partially because I woke myself up crying – thanking you for visiting me.

What I do remember is how good you looked. Healthy, handsome and happy; the way I really remember you and always will. We were standing in our bedroom and you were packing. I was not packing – just you. You were folding your clothes and putting them into a suitcase. I remember standing there watching you – not sad or remorse. Just truly happy to be in your presence. There was a scrapbook on the bed and I opened it. Inside was a single newspaper clipping about your suicide. I remember thinking I had so many questions to ask you. So much I wanted to know, but I never found my words.

All I did ask was, “Do you ever think about that day?”

You told me yes, everyday.

“Are you sorry?” I asked.

Yes, you said to me – everyday.

Then I woke up crying.

Do I feel better? No. Do I feel at peace? No. Maybe I will dream again and be better prepared.

I was away with my children for the last two nights on our first ever family vacation. It felt terribly odd to be going away to a family resort – with a piece of the family missing. I was determined not to feel sad and miserable. I was determined to have a good time. I was determined to just not be me for a few days.

The children had a blast. They went swimming and ate ice cream at every meal. I taught them both how to ski and they were amazing. We stayed up late and jumped on the beds. I never said the word NO. Except when their independence got the better of me and they wanted to ski down the huge mountain from the very top without me.

It was very bizarre to be in a place where no one knows about me. Oddly comforting and yet difficult too. I was the only single parent that I could see and trust me; I was looking out for others like me. When the kids were swimming and I was sitting by myself surrounded by couples, I often wondered what they thought of me. I would chuckle to myself because I wanted to walk up to them and say, “Whatever you are thinking my story is – it is worse much worse than you can ever imagine”. But I didn’t. I didn’t have to explain my husband’s absence; I didn’t have to talk about death or suicide for three days. It left me feeling empty and longing for my computer so I could write about it.

I tried not to think about my dead husband while we were away. But there were moments I just couldn’t help it. I wanted him with me to share the experience. I wished he was there to witness the children coming down the mountain solo for the very first time. I saw him at every meal there was an all-you-can-eat buffet. He would have been thrilled. I saw him at night when couples were playing ping pong while their children played. I held a racket in my hand and tried not to cry. Envisioning how he and I would play ferociously both thinking we could out maneuver the other.

The only time I really cried was when I would watch children run away from their scolding mothers into the arms of their smiling fathers. That was so painful to witness I would have to look away in tears. I missed him so much this trip even though I tried very hard not to. I missed his sense of humor and just having him to rolls his eyes at me when someone said or did something ridiculous. I missed having him there when his daughter peed her pants as we were about to go skiing and was left on my own to deal with stressful parent stuff.

I guess deep down I didn’t do a great job at keeping the ghosts away. But like everything, I did the best I could.

I didn’t dream about him while we were away. I didn’t talk about him while we were away. I made new memories with the children and they only know what a wonderful vacation we had. They never said, I wish daddy was here – maybe they were just thinking it like me.

Google it

2010-02-16T17:39:00.000-08:00

This is what I know. My life has forever been altered with an all consuming sadness that has engulfed my children and me. This is what I don’t know. Everything else.

Late at night when I can’t sleep I search the Internet for people like me. I hope sometimes I will stumble across a website that will have the answers I seek. Though to be honest, I seek without even knowing the questions.

Suicide websites are too much for me. There are so many of them and they all make me feel worse than I already am. I read the many stories of others who are dealing with this awful situation and none of them bring me any closer to understanding anything. The only connection I feel is their pain.

I Googled young widows thinking maybe that would help refine my search. The first site that comes up is a band. Who knew there was a band in New York City called Young Widows. I have no idea why they came up with that name or what their story is. All I know is that Googling did not help. Other widow sites that come up are about dating a widow and to watch out. Nausea creeps across my soul as the word dating goes into my mind and quickly exits. Not now, not ever I think.

The next site I come across is for windows. Apparently the genius who makes Google thought widows and windows are the same thing. Well I do feel made of glass sometimes and feel like everyone can see right through me – maybe not such a bad match after all. I am now an expert on windows – go ahead ask me anything.

I am thinking about not blogging any more. I can’t deal with the side issues that have erupted due to this blog. In other words my family. Maybe I need a secret blog so I can complain to myself about my family. Maybe they should all just stop reading it. This bog is all about me. ME! This is where I come to when I am feeling my worst. This is where I get to put down all the feelings inside of me so I don’t go crazy. This is my outlet for pain and misery. It makes me feel better to write that which I cannot say. It helps me process the feelings and emotions that I need to some how deal with.

Yet when I am upset on this blog, you are all worried. When I pour my heart out on-line you worry. You should worry when this blog stops because then I have truly lost myself. It has only been through writing again that I have found the me that I lost many years ago. I need this blog and I need you to stop focusing on everything I am not doing. I need everyone to leave me alone.

Apparently when I am sad and miserable I need more therapy and drugs. When I am not sad and miserable, I need to be doing more to fix my life. I am dealing with my dead husband after four months. I am trying to raise my children and figure out the rest of my life. Need I remind you that I see my dead husband everywhere and relive finding his body day in and day out? I am trying to do the best I know how. And if my best is horrible that is still the best I can do.

I am not going to a one on one therapist. I don’t need someone to tell me this was not my fault. I don’t need someone to tell me I am strong and someday I will get past this. I don’t need someone to tell me that my husband made his own choice when he took his life and that I need to carry on living. I know this is all true. It doesn’t make the here and now any easier – even if the person saying it has a P.H.D.

I don’t want to take anti-anxiety drugs. I am sorry if you think drugs are the answer. I am sorry if you think I yell at my children too much. I am sorry if you think I loose my temper and am too stressed out. What if I take drugs and still act this way – are you going to suggest electro shock therapy?

This is also all I know. I am doing the best I can. I am trying to not be miserable all the time. But all I want to do is be miserable and maybe I deserve to be this way right now.

Maybe I will give the children guitar lessons and we will start our own band. We will sound so horribly depressed we will make Morrissey look like Elmo. Just Google it.

Four Months

2010-02-13T17:21:00.000-08:00

Wow – has it really been four months. It sounds like such a long time. But then I think that it has only been 16 weeks, 112 days; it doesn’t sound like such a long time anymore. It certainly doesn’t feel like you have been dead very long. It feels like you died today. I continue to feel raw and horrible inside and am still amazed that this is real - that you are actually gone. It feels like no amount of time is ever going to make me feel any different.

My children wake up every Saturday way too early. Like 5 am too early. Of course yesterday I was dragging everyone out of bed to get ready for school. But today when we can all sleep in, they are up at 5 am. It seems to make the start of every Saturday that much worse.

We drove to a birthday party this morning. On the way we passed a cemetery. For the first time in his life my son noticed a cemetery. He pointed to it and asked me if daddy is buried there. I said no, that daddy is buried in a different place. That was as far as the conversation went. We went to the party, which incidentally is five minute from “the” cemetery, and I thought maybe after the party I would take the children there. I figured it is four months, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day - maybe we would be ready for this.

The party was fun – the kids had blast and then we left the party with three heart shaped balloons. I had this image in my mind that we would go to your grave and tie the balloons to your sign and the kids could see where you are. I got them into the car and said, “We need to go to Trader Joe’s, but what if we go to the cemetery first?”

My son looked at me and asked, “Will there be games and rides there?”

I felt like someone had slapped me across the face. What was I thinking even contemplating taking them there? Why did I have this imagine in my mind that we would get there and everyone would be cool with it? That leaving their balloons would somehow make the moment not so awful and they wouldn’t be horrified by the idea that your body is buried deep in the earth under rocks and snow.

How did I even think I could go without hysteria taking over every ounce of my being? How did I even entertain this notion for longer than a second? Maybe I just miss you and want to see you so badly that I was willing to risk my children’s sadness and my own mental health for just a brief moment in your presence.

Going to the cemetery this early on with the children - bad idea. Just bad. Maybe the worst I have had in a while. Why did I want to go? Because every time I visit I think maybe you will be standing there waiting for me, to tell me it has all been a horrible mistake and you are alive. This is probably what my children would be thinking too especially if I said – “Let’s go see daddy!” They don’t understand fully where you are - I certainly don’t either. It may be four months but this is all still too new, too soon, too unbelievably painful to think about. They cannot go to the cemetery yet - I can’t take them – not yet – just not yet.

This all went through my head in about two seconds – then I looked at my children and without a moment’s hesitation said, “Hey, let’s go to Trader Joe's and buy lots of snacks!” And that is what we did.

They never realized how awful a mistake I almost made. They never asked again about the cemetery. I never even answered him about the rides and games – thank you awesome goody bag for that distraction.

We got home and I opened the mail – just love opening the mail. There was a letter from a monument company stating they heard I might need their assistance. I started to laugh. What kind of a letter is this, I am thinking. What kind of sick stupid person sends out these letters. Then I stopped myself; maybe it was a sign from G-d, my husband or even the universe – who knows. Telling me that at the right time I will have an unveiling of your tombstone and that is when your children will visit your grave.

Definitely not after four months with some red hearts balloons – sometimes I think I am going crazy. Sometimes I am thankful I catch these crazy moments before they go into action.

Frozen

2010-02-11T19:27:00.000-08:00

Therapy was cancelled yesterday, along with the rest of the world. I hear the collective sigh and oh no from all my friends as I write this. But I am relieved. I didn’t want to listen to the sad stories that await me and didn’t feel like telling my own. Trust me; they will be readily available next month.

I am fine.

I have trained myself not to look at the photos on the walls which cause me sadness and grief. My car is buried under a mountain of ice and snow so I can’t go to the cemetery any time soon. I am fine.

Though I still wake everyday making too much coffee – I just drink more of it now. I still wake each morning looking for you to help me with the morning routine. Looking for you has just become part of the routine and I guess I have grown accustomed to the looking and not seeing you.

The days and nights drag on and on through this awful winter. I stopped counting the weeks, but I suspect four months is soon approaching. I don’t care about Valentine’s Day. I never have and won’t feel sorry for myself on Sunday. All I ever cared about concerning Valentine’s Day was the 50% off candy on the 15th.

I have lost some enthusiasm for this blog. I can’t deal with writing every night about nothing. My children and I haven’t talked about daddy for a few days. I have just pushed him back inside my head, far away so that I don’t cry. It is hard to accomplish anything with the frustration I feel – so I have pushed it away for now. I am just on auto-pilot these days. I just go and do and try not to cry. This is it.

My children are growing and learning and thriving. I am eating but still not sleeping. A pattern of normalcy has taken over our lives and I am just going with it. Our lives are littered with good moments and those that are terrifyingly awful. This is life now – we must make the most of it.

I am trying to read these grief books with an open mind. They are chock full of advice. One book said that people fall into two categories. One group that has experienced the pain and sorrow that I have and one group that has not. I am extremely enlightened by books like this; they seem to tell me that which I did not know. Sigh, I have got to get to the library and get some new vampire books. Maybe they have a book called “death for dummies” – anything but what is on my nightstand.

The books about G-d and death do cause me to think deeper than most. I have evaluated my relationship with G-d many times over the past few months. I am not angry with G-d and I don’t blame G-d. But when the books tell me that all death is G-d’s plan – I don’t believe it for a moment. Not this death, not this way. I guess I have more thinking to do – but not now.

I feel like I am living in the Arctic. Everywhere I look there is ice and snow. Everything outside is dead and cold and the world just reflects exactly how I feel inside. I find that I care about very little these days. My only concern is for my children – everything else – I feel nothing. The goings on in the world, the dishes in the sink – I just don’t care.

The children are off from school next week. I wish I could stay in bed and hide from everything. I have no enthusiasm for anything. But I can’t hide. I must go out and face the day, like I do each and every morning. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with being a single mom – sometimes I am thankful for being a single mom, because it is the one and only thing that keeps me going. Being a mom is the most important thing in my life – it really seems at times to be the only thing in my life.

Even on the bad days, when there are lots of tantrums and crying and complaining and homework and dinner and drama; when I wake up exhausted and spend the day dragging and then lie awake at night worrying – it could always be worse I think. It could always be much, much worse.

Tomorrow is Friday and I will wake up tired from today. I will not sleep well again tonight. I will lie in bed and worry about everything. Eventually my children will crawl into my bed in the wee hours and I will awaken with them kicking me, grinding their teeth and stealing the blankets. But I will wake up next to two beautiful children who are my very own and in the end that is all that matters.

I will be just fine.

The Nile

2010-02-08T18:35:00.000-08:00

I know I say this almost every night – but what a bad fucking day today was. The worst part was that it started out so well. I had us all up and out without too much drama this morning. I thought for a Monday I was doing pretty well.

Then I got totally frazzled at work. There are so many things I am bad at that I am just frustrated with myself. I started to cry as I drove home. I just wanted to pick up the phone and call my husband. I wanted to talk to him and tell him about the day. I had funny stories to tell him that only he would truly appreciate. I miss being able to call him.

Then I had to deal with my true reality as I drove home and tried to compose myself as I returned phone calls. Then I forgot what day it was and what time I had to pick up my son. My friend called me ten minutes after I was supposed to be at school to tell me she grabbed him for me. As I ran up the street frazzled again, I just thought my mind is gone. Thankfully I have an amazing friend, and her brain works better than mine, and my baby didn’t have to sit in school, wondering where is mother was. In fact, he never even knew how I screwed up. I however, have been angry with myself since.

Then we were off to pick up my daughter and I rushed him to get to her school, only to realize I messed up the timing again and we were half an hour early.

I just sat in the car while he did his homework wanting to bang my head on the steering wheel. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I remember the simplest things anymore? Really, just what is wrong with me?

After we got home and I figured out what terrible meal was for dinner, I opened the mail. I dread opening the mail. Every single letter addressed to you is painful – every time I see your name it just hurts, each and every time. Today an AARP card came for you. Once upon a time I would laugh hysterically and would wait with anticipation for you to come home so I could hold it up and tease you for hours. Now I look at it and just cry. I tear it up into teeny tiny pieces but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I hate the mail.

I have a melt down after bath time and start to yell at the kids, but instead I leave the room and just cry in the bathroom till I have calmed down. The day has just taken a major toll on my patience and I get so frustrated with them, me and just everything.

After I tuck in my daughter into bed, I read with my son. His book tonight from school is called “Bill and Pete down the Nile.” Bill is a crocodile who learns about Egypt. Page two talks about how after the Pharaohs died they were buried in Pyramids and blah blah blah. My son stops reading and looks at me. “Is daddy’s body buried,” he asks?

Crap! Crap! Crap! Is what I am thinking. I tell him that daddy’s soul, the very special part of him that made him daddy is in heaven, but yes his body is buried in the ground. He looks at me with these huge brown eyes and whispers, “I want to go see him.”

I explain that you can’t see his body anymore, but we could go to where he is buried. The bile in my throat is rising at a rapid rate. “I want to go there,” he says “and then I want to dig him up and hug him.” He starts to cry and then of course I am crying.

The worst part for me is that I totally get my six year old son. All I want to do is dig him up and hug him as well. But I don’t say it. Instead I run to the bathroom and throw up.

My son is still crying as I sit down next to him and put my arms around him. He starts sobbing and says that he doesn’t want to die. I tell him he won’t die for a long, long time. “Well what if someone comes over and sticks a huge sword in my stomach?” He asks. I tell him that it just won’t happen. No one is going to stick him with a sword. (Thank you Peter Pan) Then he looks at me and says, “Does daddy’s body look like this?” He closes his eyes and sticks his tongue out. I actually start to laugh and say that it probably does look something like that. I keep laughing because I am afraid I will throw up again.

He stops his crying and I toss the book to the floor and suggest he go to bed now. I tuck him in and he asks to read a little more in bed. I find the nicest, simplest and least thought provoking book I can find. I hand him his flashlight and kiss him goodnight.

Fucking crocodiles going down the Nile – stupid mail – why can’t anything just be easy anymore?

Strangers

2010-02-06T17:56:00.000-08:00

Everyone is starting to look like you. Cars drive by and I swear it is you, or I will see someone on the street from behind and think you have come back. The rational part of me knows it is not you. But I am not satisfied until I have caught up with the car and see a stranger driving or walk up to the person and stare them in the eye. Chasing after strangers is not so good for me. They see a woman with no wedding band giving them an odd look and who knows what they are thinking. I am sure if I said, “Oh excuse me, I thought you were my dead husband,” that would stop them in their tracks. But I don’t say anything and usually just run the other way.

Maybe my subconscious is just so desperate to see you again that I am envisioning you everywhere. Maybe this is just part of the grieving process. All I know is the disappointment I feel when none of these people end up being you.

I woke up today so very unhappy. Each and every Saturday my first thought is that you killed yourself on a Saturday. I wish it wasn’t the first thing that goes through my mind, but it is. I don’t know how long this goes on for. I feel like every Saturday I wake up and relive your death. I stand in the shower crying until I turn into a prune and even then I don’t want to get out. To face another day without you – the pain just goes on and on.

Today should have been better than it was. We spent the day at a birthday party, a play and with all our wonderful friends. Yet I feel nothing – just numb and cold. I don’t even know how many weeks it has been since you died; thirteen maybe fourteen, I can’t remember. Keeping track of the weeks wasn’t helping, but forgetting seems almost worse. It feels like an eternity since you died. If feels like it just happened. Today is simply another day I try to get through without you. This is all I feel.

I sat in the middle of the play at 4 pm. I knew exactly when it turned 4 without ever looking at the time. I knew it because all of a sudden I started to get anxious and tears rolled down my face and I had to actually think about taking breaths to get the moment to pass. I looked around the room and saw everyone from my community and though it was filled with friends who love and care for me; all I really saw was that you weren’t there.

Life is just beginning to get even more complicated – I can’t really get into it now. There is so much on the horizon, so much in limbo that I don’t know how I am going to get through this. To be honest, I just don’t want to deal with any of it.

I want my old life back. When I look back I wonder what I even cared about or worried about, before death became the central focus of everything. I wonder how I could have ever complained about anything when I had it so freaking good. Why didn’t I appreciate my life a few months ago? Why didn’t I think I had it all?

I am tired of being unable to sleep and lie in bed at night worrying about every little thing. I am worried about my children and that I am not good enough to do this by myself. That someday when they are older they will blame me for everything that has gone wrong in their life. I will probably blame myself too.

No one has mentioned daddy all week. I used to complain about the crying every night and now I am worried when it stops. I know they don’t feel what I feel – I go through moments of feeling nothing and then I feel everything all at once.

I am consumed with guilt and sorrow and stress and more sorrow and I hate this person who I am right now. I hate feeling so bad all of the time and so tired and so very, very, very lost.

Sometimes I want to scream at the world for killing my husband and stealing my children’s innocent childhood. But who this tirade is intended for, I am not sure. I am just looking for someone to blame other than myself – other than my husband. I am looking for some way to make this insanity all go away.

I have been trying to look forward and not look back or even look at the present, but even this seems impossible. I guess I hope and pray that there will be a moment in time where I feel all the pain I am supposed to be feeling and then it will go away.

When I do feel your absence it is awful. When I suppress my reality it feels worse. The only constant in my life right now is this freezing cold weather that numbs me inside and out and I am just tired of feeling lost and out of sync with myself.

I just keep hoping the next person I stop on the street will be you.

Tears

2010-02-03T19:14:00.000-08:00

I woke this morning dreaming about pounding on the garage door. It was an awful way to start a day and left me feeling empty but for the aching in my heart. I lay in bed for a moment trying to get the image of your face to go away. It still hasn’t.

The day continued on a downward slide. I brought my six year old to school and just as he was about to walk in the door he looked at me and said, “I am sad that daddy died.” Then he disappeared through the school doors. I stood there in the snow looking at the door, wondering what to do next. He didn’t come back out. So I left, with the pain in my heart now growing. My four year old cried when I dropped her off to school. She never cries about school – never.

For reason unknown we were all on the same awful wave length today.

I sat on the bridge for twenty minutes while they cleared away an accident. Someone cut me off and the next thing I know I am sobbing uncontrollably, yelling at the steering wheel - please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead! I don’t know where it came from. I just could not stop crying. The tears just continued with the day. I cried at work and then again on my way home. I just have not been able to shake the sadness or the tears today.

Yesterday I wasn’t even half this bad. I took my daughter to the eye doctor for a check-up. The waiting room was filled and I noticed after a while that many were children with special needs. Some young children and a few teenagers were there with both their parents keeping a watchful eye on them. I saw the exhaust and frustration in the parent’s faces. I share that same look but for a much different reason. I saw how much work it took just to keep them calm and under control in a waiting room. My heart went out to them as I watched my daughter sit quietly playing with toys or sitting on my lap snuggling. I was reminded at how lucky I am. How life could be even more difficult for me. I have two beautiful, healthy children and I try to remember how good I have it on many other levels.

I occasionally do have these moments of clarity, when I realize I need to take stock in what I do have and not what I have lost. I try and tell myself this when I am freaking out on the bridge – but sometimes logic gets completely lost in sadness no matter what I say out loud.

I think about how far I have come in three short months. How much I do everyday and realize once again, I am blessed I have so much help. I would still be in bed if it weren’t for my family and friends.

Every morning when I walk my son to school I usually see at least twenty people I know. Now you all know why I wear mascara at 7:30 in the morning. Regardless of what kind of day these people are having, they always make sure to send a smile my way. Personally, I have given up trying to hide when I am having a bad day. It seems ridiculous to even try.

I used to try and hide my tears during the morning walk. I am so over this. I have done so much crying that I don’t even bother to wipe the tears away anymore. I don’t care who sees them. No one ever has to ask me why I am crying and I almost love this. Not having to explain my tears is the greatest gift my friends and neighbors have given me. Tears are just a part of my life now and they probably will be for a long time.

Therapy is in a week. I am dreading it. I am anxious about it. I am kind of looking forward to it. I don’t think I will have anything to say this time. Nothing new has occurred. Grief and I are at a standstill. I am not growing as a person and not falling apart – well except for today. I am trying to prepare myself for what I will have to listen to and worry about saying something stupid.

The only thing that doesn’t worry me is crying. I am not afraid of the tears that I know will show up. I will bring them, use them and then they will come home with me.

My four year old has 102 fever tonight – so that at least explains her crying. Me – I have no other excuse except for grief.

Stagnant

2010-01-31T17:30:00.000-08:00

I feel like my life is stagnant right now. I am not getting over this loss though I try and move forward everyday. I am just at an impasse. Things that need to get done are moving at a snail’s pace and I am frustrated with everything. Life seems to be the same everyday and I am frustrated. I am sad and missing him and working hard to keep my children busy and distracted. Rinse and repeat. This is my life and nothing I do seems to change it.

I feel very boring. There is nothing new in my life except death. After three months this is old news to many – so I have nothing to talk about. My friend’s father wrote to me that I need to find others in my situation because my friends will soon move on to their own lives. I hope they are – moving on that is. I hope no one continues to feel like me – cause being me really sucks.

I spent yesterday at a bowling party with some of my favorite families. I tried not to think about it being a Saturday and just tried to enjoy my friends. I just kept looking around for my husband and thinking how much he would have loved the day. Being around people he cared for and could talk to and just enjoy laughing at the children attempting to bowl. It was fun on some level for me and utterly awful on another. Mostly I feel like maybe I am not ready to be social, but I force myself. I am not ready to smile and laugh but I force myself. I have a battle going on inside my head and it keeps me distracted from what is going on outside in the world.

My sister asked me last night if I am still angry. I said no. I stopped being angry a long time ago. The more I learn about depression – the less angry I am at my husband, but the angrier I get with myself.

For almost a year I saw my husband struggle, yet it never occurred to me he was depressed. I saw him stressed and upset, sad and angry and also happy. I thought it would get better. He never said he was depressed, but maybe he didn’t have to. He wasn’t the man I married for the last year, but there was a lot going on – and so much out of our control. I really and truly thought if we got our lives back on track he would be back to his old self. I never thought deeper and wider like I should have. I never really looked at him and asked myself what is really going on here? I never imagined he would kill himself - never, ever, ever. I never saw where his life was leading, where he was going and that maybe it wasn’t really his fault. So no, I am not angry. I am so upset with myself for not seeing what was right in front of me and doing something - anything.

Maybe this blog means I need therapy to start soon. My family thinks my once a month group is not enough. They have no idea how painful therapy is and I am truly grateful it is once a month. I am dreading going again and yet wondering what keen insight I will grasp this time around.

At night I still feel like my husband is just at work. I don’t know when this disbelief goes away. Every night still feels the same. No matter how many times I say it out loud, read the note, visit the cemetery - this just doesn’t ever seem real. I feel sometimes like I am forcing myself to accept what is reality and yet my brain and heart are conspiring against me, as they just refuse to let it in.

Like I said I am at an impasse – not moving forward and not looking back. Maybe I will tell the group at therapy about the turtle. Maybe they will kick me out for being insane and I won’t have to go anymore. That at least would be new.

Turtle

2010-01-28T18:35:00.000-08:00

I woke this morning knowing I was going to the cemetery. I walked my son to school, only to discover it was snowing. I then drove my daughter to school and by then the snow was coming down even harder. I told myself to go anyway. I really wanted to see you and was trying not to be discouraged by the weather. By the time I got to the cemetery it was a blizzard. I could barely see in front of me with the amount of snow falling, but I persisted. I thought maybe I would drive right up to the grave instead of walking. I drove in but my wheels started to skid and slide. I stopped and turned back to the parking lot. The last thing I needed was to get stranded in the middle of a cemetery during a snow storm. That would just be my luck.

So I bundled up and walked in. I trudged through the snow slipping and sliding my way around. I thought at the very least I am entertainment for the ghosts, as I fell a few times and got soaking wet.

I found your grave and was relieved to see your name covered with snow. I knew it was there, but I didn’t have to see it right away. It was a peaceful sight with snow covering the ground and the graves. The gigantic, beautiful flakes that fell from the sky were just perfect. I find sometimes the need to visit your grave to make everything seem real. I still see your face and hear your voice so perfectly clear in my mind – it is impossible to imagine I will never see you again. Not in this life anyway.

I started talking to you. Well, I started complaining to you. About everything bothering me and stressing me out and then the crying started. I am sobbing very loudly and just can’t stop. I don't want to stop - I am trying to push every ounce of sadness out as tears fall from my face. I told you how impossible my life feels right now and how I just don’t know how I am supposed to do it all alone. How much I need you today and everyday and hate being on my own. I feel like I am lost in a swirling chasm of chaos and everyday feels like the same – one big mess. I am trying to just get through the day not hating everything. I am trying to get through the day being a good parent and taking care of everything that needs to be done. Some days it seems possible – some days it feels like the weight of the world is tearing me to shreds.

I cried for quite a while and talked more and more. About important things, about nonsense, whatever comes out. I was freezing and getter colder by the second, but I couldn’t leave. Sometimes I feel the cemetery has become my new hide out; a place where I can escape from the reality of all that encompasses me. No one can find me, no one can bother me and I can escape somewhere inside myself. I almost feel like time stops when I enter here and I can breathe again. But then I look around and my breath gets stolen, as another part of me just wants to run out. The reality is my dead husband is buried beneath my feet and it is an awful, gut-retching feeling.

It is a bizarre dichotomy of feelings – not wanting to leave and not wanting to ever have to be here in the first place.

I brushed the snow off your sign so I could see your name and left a hand print in the snow. I left rocks on your grave from our backyard, where you and I slaved over last summer and will now never appreciate. Maybe if I come enough times I can just transport our backyard to you.

Alas, eventually I left to face the life of the living and deal with whatever comes my way. It is inevitable. The snow was almost completely gone two hours later. It was like someone or something was trying to keep me from visiting you. Maybe it was you telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself – or maybe I am just reading too much into the weather.

Later today I took my four year old to the doctor for her shots. I felt very alone and sad as my strong girl screamed the entire time. Though I usually was the one to bring the children to all their doctor visits, I would always call my husband right after to give him the update. There was no one to call and it left me feeling very empty inside.

I promised my daughter a hot chocolate from Starbucks for being so brave. She and I sat on the couch; lounging and acting carefree when I asked her if she wanted to call her Nana. She said O.K. and she talked for a bit. As soon as I started to talk she said, Mommy get off the phone! I asked her why. I want to call daddy now, she said. I told my mother I had to go.

I looked at my daughter and asked her what she said again. I want to call daddy, she repeated. I was a little worried, so I said to her – you know honey that we can’t really talk to daddy. I know, she said, I just want to leave him a message. I wanted to laugh and then cry. I pondered the situation for a moment. I suggested we call the house and leave a message for ourselves. She loved that idea and so that is what we did. I feel like I am constantly grasping thin air trying to diffuse situations and sometimes, I just hope I am doing the right thing.

My six year old went on a field trip this week to an Environmental Center. I could not go and he was devastated of course. Many parents that did go made a point of telling me what a great time he had. I felt better. But many also told me about how this turtle seemed to stare at my son forever. It just kept looking at him and would not turn away from.

I thought about this all day. I remembered how much my husband loved turtles. When he was a child he owned two, named Myrtle and Gyrtle the turtles. I am convinced that my husband was inside the turtle that day, looking in wonder at our beautiful son.

I know this sounds crazy, but I really believe it to be true. Or maybe I am just reading too much into nature.

New Normal

2010-01-25T18:33:00.000-08:00

I started reading some of my death books last night. I read one line which forced me to close the book and chuck it across the room. It said, “Suicide leaves the family with visions of doom enough to haunt them all the days of their life.”

Just fucking great. Like I needed a book to tell me that which I fear most. That I will never forget this and never get over this trauma. Not what I want to read. I think about all the other tragedies I have read or heard about in my life. I feel like people can go in two directions when the worst thing possible happens to them. They can fall apart and live in misery forever or they can look at what a wonderful life they can have, if they just try to move forward and work through the pain.

I want to be the latter. I don’t want to feel destroyed and miserable forever. I don’t want visions of doom to haunt me either. I want to work hard and make a better life for my children and myself and be the pillar of strength I never was. But just as I feel like I can be O.K. I have a vision of my husband or see a photo and hear his voice in my head - then my breath is knocked out of me and I am falling further from my strength than ever before. It is a winding roller coaster this thing called grief. These moments of strength come few and far between and I am grasping at them to keep from drowning.

I am trying to think about life in a different way. These past few months all I have focused on is how awful my new life is. This is not helping me at all. Today my sister and I talked about how my life is just a “new normal”. I kind of like this term. It doesn’t sound as depressing as how I have referred to my life previously. There is no before daddy died and after daddy died life – this is my new normal whether I like it or not, so I guess I better start embracing it.

I have yet to feel good about feeling the slightest bit happy. Every moment where I start to smile, every time I find myself laughing out loud, I want to chastise myself for having good moments. I feel like I should not be happy – not yet. But what am I waiting for? A sign from the grave to let me know it is time to laugh again. My marriage was filled with laughter – it was the foundation of our love. That is why it just feels so wrong to laugh without him. I think sometimes I just want it to happen naturally, to feel happy without immediately feeling regret. My emotions are all over the place and no longer controlled by me. I find I can be doing something fun with the children or my friends, then there is a little voice inside my head that yells at me – “Hey your husband killed himself and you couldn’t stop it – do you really think you should be laughing?”

Good times in my world – oh yes – good times.

Sometimes at night while waiting for the Ambien to kick in I look on-line at suicide websites. Last night I Googled “widows”. I found one site written by a woman who lost her husband after 33 years and she was giving advice to another woman who was complaining about losing her husband after 35 years. I thought they were lucky to have their husbands for such a long time. Their grief was real and sad, but their children were grown, their husbands died of natural causes and I was having a hard time feeling sympathy for them. I was married for seven years and am left with two small children. I guess someone else would find me lucky – but I haven’t met them yet.

This widow’s website gave advice on ways to keep you happy and distracted from your grief. She said to take walks in the rain and blow bubbles – um well today I walked in the pouring rain as I took my cranky children to school and there was nothing enjoyable, fun or happy about it.

Maybe it was because I forgot the bubbles.

Reds

2010-01-24T18:10:00.000-08:00

I didn’t cry once today. Probably because yesterday all I did was cry, scream and have my own melt downs. Yesterday was one of those awful days that I hope the children won’t remember and I try to push far from my mind.

We had an early morning appointment and the children were not listening before we even left the house. They were cranky, fighting and needy and I was just out of patience. I promised to take them to McDonalds and though they were misbehaving – I still went. We walked in and before I was even on line to order one was running away while the other was flinging himself onto a chair and spinning around. I asked them to come back to me and no one even acknowledged me in the slightest. I said if you don’t come back now we are leaving – nothing. So I did what any insane mother of two children who lost her husband to suicide 13 weeks ago would have done. I dragged them both by their coats kicking and screaming out the door while every single person in the place glared at me.

I sat them on the stoop outside and reprimanded their bad behavior. They didn’t hear a word I said over their wailing. I realized at that moment they weren’t being so horrible, but I have a tendency to over react when they don’t listen and I am really hypersensitive to every little thing these days. I calmed down, got them to stop crying and we walked back in to try again. Everyone was starring at me and in my mind I was daring someone to say something out loud. I had the words rehearsed to anyone who dared to question my parenting. Fortunately for them, no one said a word to me. The kids ate and played and then we went home so I could cry and cry and get all my stress and anxiety out. It was a Saturday – I should have expected this all along.

There was a light at the end of tunnel for me though. Last night my three college roommates and I went into Manhattan for dinner. An event that is a rare treat as one of the girls lives in Australia. We are all redheads and have been friends over 20 years. I have lived with some of these girls almost as long as I lived with my husband. No one in the world knows me better and it lifts my heart just to be in the same room as the three of them.

We are also extremely bad influences on each other – but really, in a good way. When we are together no one in the world exists, as we are immediately transformed back into our younger selves trying to take over the world – one drink at a time.

We spent the night laughing like we can’t with any other, reminiscing about stuff we can only talk about between the three of us and making a scene like there is no one else around. We love to take pictures of the four of us together – to document our time out. We had an entire photo shoot at the bar making complete strangers take photo after photo of us and then changing positions, fixing our hair and lip glossing our way through it all. It would be embarrassing on a normal night – but when we are together there is nothing but us. Every problem is gone, every stressful situation and worry is out the window and we are just the REDS.

These girls have seen me at my worst and have been there for me every step of the way. They have come to my house over the last few weeks where we have sat and cried and talked. Tonight it was a relief not to talk about my dead husband. It was wondrous to be transported away from all my sorrow and misery even if it was for just a few hours. To remember for a moment who I was a long time ago; to remind myself that I used to be a normal person with a normal life. Even though now everything is just totally fucked up – I have friends who can bring me back to where I started. Maybe someday I will see her again on a regular basis, as I feel like that girl is long gone - but for one night it was fun to pretend to be me again.

As I sat with them at the dinner table I was a little bit sad. I have been a bridesmaid at each of their weddings and they at mine. They are all married with children now and we are all very different from our younger days; well maybe not so different. We just have more responsibilities and concealer. But it is hard to think of starting my life over again when everyone around me is just settling into theirs. It is hard to think about the future stretching ahead of me. I didn’t want this challenge of starting fresh. I was very happy being married and raising my family and living the life I had 13 weeks ago.

Today I made amends with my children and we played all day long; board games and dress up – we just played. I need to remind myself that though a lot has changed in my life, many things have not. My children still love me and need me to care for them and make their lives fun and enjoyable. All my friends new and old are here for me, love me and want the best for me.

I have no choice now but to embrace this life and make the most of it - for better or for worse.

Underdog

2010-01-22T18:48:00.000-08:00

My six year old cried himself to sleep tonight. This time it is my fault. He wasn’t listening to me and was talking back, so I took away his flashlight and wouldn’t let him read books in bed. He went hysterical and had a melt down, the likes of which I have not seen in years. I feel terrible beyond belief and almost gave in – but I held onto my convictions and just let him cry till he passed out. This is the first night he went to bed without telling me he loves me – it was painful.

This single mom parenting is so difficult at times. There is just no way around it. I feel like right after my husband died I gave into their every whim. I didn’t punish and didn’t yell – they have truly been taking advantage of the situation. I have started to pull in the reins so to speak and insist they abide by house rules and at the very least stop yelling and speaking snotty to me.

I miss my husband tonight because I feel like I am the underdog when I deal with the children. I am out numbered on a daily basis and there is no one else to turn to when I need help dealing with a four and six year old. Forget the grieving for a moment, that our lives are completely turned upside down and that the future holds more questions than answers. Just dealing with our day to day lives is exhausting and stressful and difficult.

Just being a parent is an impossible, never ending, thankless job that my friends and I all deal with and share together. Being a parent has never been easy, but sometimes I just feel like I am failing miserably.

I wish my husband was here with me to share the highs and the lows. I am tired of missing him so much. I am sad being all alone and just wish he was alive. The children need a father and now he is gone and I am struggling daily about how to keep the children in a happy place in our home. I am trying to be a good mother and not sad all the time. It is exhausting being a parent, it is exhausting to grieve and mourn and it just feels overwhelming to be me.

Last night, however, my six year old son was a pillar of strength. At bedtime we started to pray to G-d and when it came time to say “please bless daddy in heaven” his face scrunched up and I thought it was going to be a tearful night so I stopped talking. He looked at me with his huge brown eyes and whispered, “Mommy, don’t stop talking, just keep praying.”

I started to cry a little and he just looked at me and said, “It is O.K. mommy – just keep praying.” I was amazed at his inner strength, he is so sad and yet he is building up a tolerance to the grief. I asked him if he wanted to talk about anything or cry about anything. He sighed and just said, “I can’t believe our first daddy died.”

I asked him what he meant about his first daddy. He just said, “I can’t believe the first man you married died!” I almost laughed out loud at the awful statement. I said, “No kidding, you are telling me!”

Then he asked, “Do you really have to kiss someone on the lips when you marry them?” I replied, yes and he made a gagging noise. Then thankfully the conversation spun itself into something completely different.

As I kissed him good night and left his room he said to me, “Mommy, I am still really sad that daddy died – goodnight I love you.” But there were no tears from him and none of the usual drama that can accompany nights like this. He is so strong and smart. He knows how to be sad and grieve without letting it get the better of him.

Some nights I idolize his strength. But nights like tonight I want to scream and cry right along side him and make this madness go away.

I wanted to go to the cemetery today, but I didn’t. My heart was tugging at me all morning and after a short fight with the car, that seemed to try and take me there – I just didn’t go. I had a choice this morning – to go to your grave and cry and cry and cry or get caught up in my life. Today life won.

I know I should not let bad times like this get to me. I must remind myself that sometimes all I need is a good nights sleep to make the sadness not feel so sad and embrace the children’s crazy behavior. They are after all just little kids thrown into a big fat mess. I am trying to see the good in the world, regardless of the blackness that follows me.

I wish I could just fast forward these next few months. I want to envision the children and I in a happier time and place. Where there isn’t any yelling and crying and the sadness is at a minimum. I don’t think I am asking too much.

Just Horrible

2010-01-19T17:09:00.000-08:00

I have been putting this post off for days now as I hate to upset people. But then I remember that this blog is supposed to help me get things out of my system – so here it goes.

Maybe because I am on day four of being home alone with sick children – maybe because we are smack in the middle of winter – maybe just because – but there are awful images in my mind that just will not go away.

I could be washing my hands in the sink or walking up the stairs; just being in some random mundane moment that allows my mind to wander even for an instance and I see your face.

Let me be more specific and more horrific, as is the case with me.

I think about the day I walked into the house and found your note. I think about how I ran to the garage calling your cell phone, begging you to pick up. How I heard the motor running inside and started to throw myself into the metal door crying and screaming your name, while simultaneously speaking to the 911 operator trying not to sound like a lunatic. But I was utterly and completely insane.

I am so haunted by this day that I don’t think I will ever, ever forget it. Maybe the pain of losing you will someday subside – slowly ever so slowly. But that day and everything I experienced – it is so truly horribly X-rated that I feel like I am scarred for life. This is coming from someone who can’t watch commercials for scary movies. Yet I feel like I have lived the scariest and worst thing I could ever witness in a movie first hand, real life and all.

I find myself constantly thinking about how I threw myself against the garage door until some random strangers came and pried the door open. I saw you lying there and ran in without another thought and pulled you out onto the sidewalk – someone must have helped me, I don’t remember. Then I was lying on your body screaming your name, and though I have taken CPR and know all about First Aid – I did none of this. I just clawed at your shirt screaming don’t be dead over and over – then someone pushed me out of the way to start mouth to mouth - I didn’t know who. Not until he knocked on my door a week later to tell me how sorry he was that he failed you.

My beautiful amazing friend was there with me – moments after I pulled you out and I just remember her gripping me in her arms as she and I lay on the wet rainy sidewalk. She held me so hard it helped me focus on her and not the utter madness we were witnessing. She said lets pray and I know she said something meaningful but all I remember is whispering then screaming, “don’t be dead please g-d please don’t be dead” till I couldn’t see or talk anymore. I was crawling on the ground back and forth wanting to see what was happening to you and then just wanting to get so very far away. Then the ambulance came and the fire trucks and the police and all I remember are people standing around me as my friend and I lay on the wet ground sobbing and screaming and just praying that you would not be dead.

I don’t remember any more specifics – that moment blurs through my mind – just the crowd of people, the noise and lights and the ambulance workers taking you away. I really just recall my friend gripping me even tighter – keeping us both aware of the other so we didn’t have to be aware of anything else.

I am sorry that she was there with me to experience this terrible moment that haunts me and I know it haunts her too. She is just as sorry that I was there at all. This is the love of good friends – when you wish the other person didn’t have to experience the most awful of horrible moments.

I think about your face that day and just your body lying helpless on the ground and the images just don’t go away. Later that day I spent waiting in my kitchen for the police to come, to tell me what I already knew, that you didn’t make it. Sometime it feels like I was watching the entire event unfold from somewhere else. That it didn’t happen to me and though I saw it all, it didn’t happen to me. But these lasting, haunting memories that follow me where ever I go are a reminder that I did live through this, that it is real – every single moment happened and I can't stop thinking about that day - I just can't.

I don’t think any amount of therapy can erase what is burned into my mind. Sometimes I think maybe I want a vampire to glamour me or a magician to hypnotize me to make me forget what I lived through. Because I hate the things I see when I close my eyes and then when I open them – they are still there.

Maybe this is what the doctor meant when he said I might have post traumatic stress. Maybe I just need to get out of the freaking house, breath some fresh air and push forward like I do everyday and really hope that this all will just somehow go away.

24

2010-01-17T17:58:00.000-08:00

It is amazing to me how one bad night can make the world seem so bleak. Maybe it is the rain. Maybe it is an ear infection that kept my six year old up and screaming all night. I can’t decide.

Today I feel a million years old and unable to focus on anything. I am feeling the enormous pressure of being a single mom and the helplessness that comes with the job. I could not even run to the pharmacy without calling someone for help. Thankfully my wonderful neighbor was home to sit with the kids for ten minutes so I could go alone. But before I called her I was panicking. Do I really have to get the kids dressed and bring them out, sick and miserable, to make a two minute errand? I feel incredibly frustrated that I must rely on so many these days. I am used to being able to deal with my own problems on my own and now I just can’t. How am I supposed to do anything at all by myself? How can I possible raise my two children properly all alone and expect that we will all be just fine – I just don’t know.

Tonight I am so tired that the weight of the world feels heavier than usual. Everything looming ahead of me seems impossible and scary and awful. I am feeling sorry for myself again and I blame it on the lack of sleep. But still, I am missing my husband and really could have used his help last night and he was nowhere to be found – just gone!

More importantly I don’t know what to do about 24. Jack Bauer and I have come a long way together and my husband was the only man who got between us. It was the one and only show my husband and I could agree to watch together. Otherwise he was knee deep in politics while I am totally into vampires – but 24 brought us together.

Tonight is the premier and I am taping it as I don’t know if I can actually watch it. I want to but feel like I will be looking over at the empty seat on the couch wondering if ghosts can watch television with me – and really just missing him even more.

I know this sounds absurd – but in my world it seems easier to obsess on the most ridiculous than focus on what is really going on. I can’t believe my husband killed himself without knowing what was going to happen to Jack. If anything would have kept him going – I truly thought this would. He used to pretend that Jack was giving him secret messages through the TV and that he was a secret agent. I know if you knew my husband you would understand – he only wanted to be Jack Bauer. So tonight I must decide; do I honor my husband’s memory and watch alone or do I erase the past and leave 24 with everything else that causes me sorrow and grief.

I should probably not even dwell on this tonight and try and catch up on sleep. But as is the case with me on most nights – despite how utterly exhausted I am – sleep will elude me until much much later.

I can only hope that we all sleep through the night and tomorrow is a better day. Maybe I will just go to bed and start reading the many books of mourning that lie untouched waiting for me to start the healing process. Books like “Why Me G-d, a Jewish guide for Coping with Suffering” or “The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning” or “How do we tell the Children?” or “Remember my Soul.”

On second thought – Jack Bauer is starting to look better and better to me . . .

Three Months

2010-01-16T17:30:00.000-08:00

Today is three months that you are dead. I know we are all thinking about it. I know because everyone I called today the first thing they asked me was, “are you O.K.?” My answer, “I am fine.”

Your dad had a small stroke yesterday and I am worried. He is in the hospital in Florida and I feel helpless. I need him to get better soon for so many different reasons. Mostly I want him to get better for him; I also need him to get better for this family. I don’t think any of us – my brother-in-law and I - can take any more stress right now. We have more than we can handle as it is.

Last night I talked to my father-in-law’s new wife. She called to update me on his condition. My first thought as I got off the phone was I needed to call my husband to let him know what I learned. My second thought took my breath away. Still after three months I go to call, forgetting for the briefest of moments that he is gone. It still just doesn’t feel real, not his death, not his absence, not this life that I am living.

I took the children ice skating today. I feel the need to do something every Saturday to make the day seem not so awful. I tried not to look at the clock all day. I tried not to have an anxiety attack when four o’clock came round. I try not to think about the day you died and how nothing has been the same since. I am trying.

I have been thinking about therapy a lot. Trying to get a handle on what I heard people say and how I feel. One man, who lost his wife and found her body, told the group that he is haunted by her face the day she died. I too share this feeling of being haunted. I try not to think about this moment – but it comes to me every Saturday no matter how hard I try.

Today I read your note again. I read it sometimes to make these feelings seem real. Today I realized how matter of fact the note is and how sure you are that you made the right decision. I have been so angry over these past three months. Angry that you left your three children and I to battle lifelong demons and despair. I realized today after reading your note again that you really didn’t mean to cause us pain. Deep, deep down in your soul you thought you were doing the right thing and you thought we would be better off.

My anger seems to dissipate over time. I don’t blame you for your actions. I am trying not to blame myself. Everyone in my therapy group feels responsible for their lost loved ones. Everyone feels like they should have known what was coming and not a single person did. We discussed how when a person says they want to kill themselves, it is a cry for help, they want to be stopped. The people who actually commit suicide without any forewarning – they were the ones who made up their minds to do it and nothing was going to prevent it.

Does this make me feel better – no not really. Does this make me feel less responsible – not yet. Over time I feel like I will eventually put to rest my own demons, but right now they sit bedside me, lingering for a while.

I look forward to a Saturday when my first thought is not - today you died. I wonder how long I have to wait. Three months have gone by and there is still so much unsettled in my life and the children. Three months and there are still monsters in their closets and monsters in my head.

Three months is such a short span of time and yet it feels like you have been gone for a long, long time. You have just missed so much life in three months. I wish you were here every single moment of every single day. A part of me is scared and sad for wanting that to go away. But it is painful – wanting you around. It is an awful dichotomy of feelings enslaved inside me.

I will miss you forever and love you forever – but the pain – I want it to go away forever too.

Therapy

2010-01-15T19:15:00.000-08:00

This has been another rough week. I am a mess. I cried all week no matter what I was doing. Making breakfast, taking the children to school, brushing my teeth - it didn’t matter. Salty tears marked my face and no amount of make-up could hide my grief. I seriously challenged my waterproof mascara and it lost.

I have not been getting enough sleep and wake up not ready to face anything. My children are not happy and I realize it is mostly my fault. If I am stressed and cranky they are doubly so. I am my own worst enemy this week and it sucks. It is very hard to reel your emotions in when dealing with small children. I tried not to lose my temper and let my stress and sadness get the better of me. It is hard to be everything to everyone and still maintain some semblance of yourself.

Wednesday morning was the worst. I cried and cried out of frustration, anger and annoyance with myself. I am just stressed and sometimes even the simplest things seem so impossible these days.

Driving home from New Jersey to start the second half of my crazy day, I remembered that group therapy started tonight. I really did not want to go. No really. But it only meets once a month and I didn’t think I could take another month just on my own. Not if the days are going to be like today. I really wanted to wait till February – but I realized I owe it to my children and myself to take a different route than the one I am currently on. I called one of my friends who was more than willing to come over and put my children to bed.

I left the house with enormous knots in my stomach. I was worried about the children being without me at bedtime. I was worried about so many things. I tried not to think about where I was going. I was so nervous; I really thought I was going to throw up on the subway. Walking in Manhattan was upsetting to me. At 6:30 p.m. everyone is going to dinner or meeting for drinks. Everyone but me. I kept thinking that none of these people are going to a strange room to talk about their dead husband. Just me.

I didn’t want to go, but I went. I wanted to walk into a bar and do shots. I wanted to do anything but where I was headed. I pushed myself and walked in. I almost walked out. I didn’t. I learned that the rules of therapy are like Vegas. What is said in therapy stays in therapy. I very much respect these rules, so I will just talk about me.

This group is only for people who have lost loved ones to suicide. Some have lost close relatives, some spouses and some lost children. As we went around the room saying our names and who we lost, I was already crying. I said my name, that I lost my husband 11 weeks ago and that I cry a lot. That was all I said for a long time. I just listened to everyone else. It was almost as painful to listen than it was to speak. It was very difficult listening to the parents who lost children to suicide. I have decided that is the worst thing ever. Losing a spouse is awful of course, but a child, there are just no words.

I didn't expect to be so unnerved by everyone else’s stories. I think I was so consumed by my own grief and anxiety, that I never even thought about what brought other people to the room that night. I just never once thought about anyone but me. This small room full of sorrow and despair put me in my place. I am not the only one.

It was awkward and awful listening to other people’s pain. The words and feelings pouring from the group scared me. Everything they all said I have thought and written about as well. It is oddly comforting to know that I am not crazy or depressed. That every emotion I feel is being shared collectively in this room. Just to hear another person say out loud my worst fears and my guilt and anguish makes it seem more real but possibly more manageable. I never expected to feel connected to a complete group of strangers – it was very awful and very nice.

The moderator was very helpful. I didn’t talk for a while as I didn’t know what to say or where to begin. After a while he started asking me questions. Then others started asking me things. It was easier to talk when I had a direction. Then of course I would just cry.

Sitting there listening and talking may have been one of the most difficult things I have ever done. It was almost harder to hear other people talk about their pain and misery. I have been living with these feeling for almost three months now and I am saddened that other people feel like me. It is just unbelievably painful.

They all said it doesn't get any easier and this bothers me. I think it would have been nice to hear something positive. I don’t know what I was expecting as it is a freaking suicide group. I guess I can’t expect miracles right away.

I left quickly, totally exhausted and anxious to get some fresh air and home to my children. I didn’t look at strangers on the street and think how no one else feels my pain or is grieving like me. I didn’t feel sorry for myself at all. I felt more connected to the world than I have in a long time. I have seen the faces of others who deal with their pain day by day. I don’t feel so alone.

I am just truly thankful this group is only once a month.

Don't Think

2010-01-12T13:25:00.000-08:00

There are things I try really hard not to think about. Then there will be days like today, when I am consumed with all the memories and ideas I have fought so hard to keep away.

Today all I see is your face when I found you. Then I see your casket as it was lowered into the ground. I think about how your little girl doesn’t have a daddy and how your youngest son will never have you for a soccer coach. I can’t stop wondering what your eldest son, father and brother must be going through. How people in the neighborhood are still mourning your loss and wondering how they missed the signs.

I just try not to think about how I must have failed you. How I missed every sign of your pain or dismissed it as nothing. Or maybe I was so wrapped up in my own life; I didn’t take a good long look at yours.

Deep, deep down, in the pit of my soul, I do blame myself. I know that I am not supposed to, but some days I just do. I try not to dwell on this feeling. I push it away and know that rationally it isn’t my fault. But there are moments when I just have to wonder how you hid your pain so well from me that I didn’t have a clue.

The only day I really saw you different was on your last day. The only day that I felt something was wrong was the day you died. I certainly never left the house thinking you were going to go kill yourself – but deep down I knew something was going on. I asked you if everything was alright and you said yes. But I knew there was something you weren’t telling me. I didn’t ask the right questions that day and I just didn’t know how wrong things really were.

Maybe if you had acted more like you did on that last day, I would have reacted differently. But everyday you were the same. You went to work, spent time with your children – you lived your life as I have always known.

I remember leaving the house thinking you were really distracted about something and as I went on my way I thought we would just talk later. I hate this feeling that gnaws away at me – this idea that I could have somehow changed the course of events if only I had done even one thing differently. It is an awful feeling.

I guess I could spend the rest of my life dealing with the “what ifs.” I know that I need to focus on the right now and not look back. But there are some days that I can’t get over what happened.

I think I just really miss you. I find myself at times still wandering around the house looking for reasons to make sense of this all. I found a bizarre website dedicated to suicide notes. I read them all trying to find some missing link that would give me better incite. It didn’t work. There doesn’t seem to be a connection between any of them. Nothing these random people wrote makes sense to me. Your note makes no sense to me.

I wonder how you did it sometimes. How you could have left us like you did. I just don’t want to believe it most days and pretend like it didn’t happen. I try very hard not to dwell on these feelings. Some days I just try not to think. It is just so awful and so sad and such a waste of your precious life. There is so much to live for – so many wonderful opportunities to enjoy. Your beautiful amazing three children are just enough for me – why couldn’t they be enough for you too?

I hate money and I hate everything that seems to make people crazy. There is just so much more to life than having money, yet it seems to be the driving force behind everything. I just couldn’t care less about materialistic things. I never did. Which is why it bothers me so that you couldn’t look past these inconsequential issues and see the bigger picture. How you couldn’t look into the future and think about your life in terms of your children and their future. How you could only see and focus on the right now. Your children were everything to you and you left them.

Maybe it is inevitable that I have these days and these conversations with myself about you. Suicide is not a normal ending to a life. It has left me with more questions than answers and more grey areas to ponder. How can I not feel somewhat to blame? How do I wake up everyday and not feel you chose the worst case scenario instead of just trying a little bit harder. Maybe if I had just pushed you to talk to me or been a better, more attentive wife, life would be different today. How can I not wonder what might have been. This was not how you were supposed to die.

Everyday I try and focus on the future and what is most important for my children and me. I am trying to make the right choices and the right decisions to give us a better life than what we have right now. Sometime though, I can’t even decide what socks to wear – how I am making important life decisions is almost a joke.

Every few days or so I fall backwards into time and wish it wasn’t so. Maybe this is what I will learn in therapy – that I am not the only one with regrets. Maybe when I finally get myself there it will help me come to peace with all that has happened. Or maybe it will just teach me how not think even more.