Forrest Gump

“Mama always said that dyin’ was a part of life. I sure wish it wasn’t.”

- Forrest Gump

What I REALLY needed that first year

Four months after Steve died I wrote my version of a letter titled "How You Can Help Me". It was structured around the many I saw on different widow/er websites explaining what I understood (at the time), as needing. Looking back at that first year, that letter didn't even begin to cover what I needed so I'd like to give this another shot. Maybe another widow/er out there can use this second version to help themselves in some way.

Hugs:
I need a hug. Not one of those stick-your-butt-out-so-crotches-don't-touch while you sorta pat my shoulder hug. I need a real hug. A grab-me-by-the-shoulders and wrap me in suffocating bear arms hug. An I'm-never-gonna-let-you-go hug. I need a hug like our parents gave us when were were little and woke up screaming in the night from nightmares. I need to be hugged so hard it squeezes all my tears out in huge gasping sobs. I need a hug that when we finally separate I'll apologize for ruining your shirt. I need you to give me the hug my husband would be giving me if he were here and saw this pain in my heart and on my face. I need you to do this in his place. My husband needs you to do this in his place.

Crying:
When I cry, I need you to hand me tissues. When I cry, I need you to hold my hand. When I cry, I need you to put your arm around me and pull me into your shoulder. When I cry, I need you to rub your hand up and down my back. When I cry, I need you to give me one of those hugs from above and not stop hugging me until I can breath normally. When I cry, I need you to touch me. Unabashedly and without fear or nervousness, just reach out and touch me. Nearly two years in and I can tell you, there aren't words. You won't find them. But that touch will speak to me directly from your heart.

Touch:
And you need to know that with my husband gone, no one touches me anymore. I've gone from being touched with love every day, several times a day, to not being touched at all. That physical disconnect from humanity is going to send me over the edge. So hold my hand even when I'm not crying. Hug me hello and goodbye. Take or send me to get massages. Just touch me.

Food:
I need you to look in my fridge. In days gone by people would bring food to widow/ers. I bet if you look in my fridge you'll find I haven't gone shopping and that I'm not eating. Take me to the grocery store. Help me pick out food that will be easy to prepare. Frozen dinners may be all I can manage for the next year if I have to cook for myself. If we go out to eat, remind me to take home the leftovers. I'll eat them the next day if they're waiting for me in the fridge but I won't think of that while sitting in the restaurant. You see, I don't want to even be alive with my husband dead. So I'm certainly not thinking about the basic necessities to keep my life going.

Pets:
This is the one that embarrasses me the most but... my dog needs you too. Those weeks where you can hardly get me to answer the phone so you stop by my place? Please check on the dog. If I'm not eating and answering the phone, I may have forgotten the dog as well. Check that she's getting fed, doesn't have fleas, or needs to go to the vet. I love my dog. I do. But I'm sitting in an empty house fighting for a reason to live. And I hate that it's gotten this bad, I hate myself for being a bad doggie-mama, so please check on my dog. I'll thank you later for it.

Brain Damage:
I have no clear way to explain how my mind is (not) working except to say: think of it as brain damage. You're going to tell me something that I'll turn around and ask you about two minutes later. You're going to ask me simple questions and I'm going to look at you like you're speaking a foreign language. I'm going to tell you the same things over and over; not hearing when you remind me I've already told you this. It may be months before I remember to ask you about your life. It may be several more months before I can remember what's going on in your life.

I'm not doing these things on purpose. I'm not "wallowing" in my grief. I'm not being a widow diva. I've experienced a trauma. A trauma of the heart, soul, and yes, brain. Every part of my life has been turned upside-down and inside-out. It's going to take me a lot longer than you think, a lot longer than I think, to get my head fully wrapped around this.


And all those things I wrote in that last letter? They still apply as well. I need you to tell stories about my husband. I need you to help fill my time. I need help around the house. Just wish I'd known to ask for these other things that first year, too.  

Andrew Wight

What did you learn about survival from your experience?

 I learned that what’s in front of you is what you have to deal with. What could happen is not as important as what is happening. We had to make decisions based on that and take responsibility for those decisions.

 - Andrew Wight (director of Sanctum), interview

Every Day

Holding On

Number 13: It's the human response. It's either overly saccharine, because giving sympathy makes them feel better, or they ignore you, because hiding from mortality makes them feel better.

Wilson: Why can't they just say something that makes me feel better?

Number 13: Like what, exactly?


- House "Holding On"

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There are two responses to finding out that I'm a widow that continue to stump me.

The first is the, I suppose completely proper, and more common "I'm so sorry for your loss" or some deviation that includes an apology. It's that apology that throws me for a loop.

I usually either say thank you or just nod and kinda bow my head in acknowledgment. "Thank you" seems both right and wrong at the same time. It's a 'yeah, I heard you and appreciate the thought' but it's also feels like I'm saying 'thanks for my dead husband'. Look, I know I'm not thanking them for my dead husband just like I know they're not apologizing for the fact that I have a dead husband. I get that. It's just a way for them to express sadness for my sadness. And it's just a way for me to say thanks for that expression. Still feels wrong to say "thank you". So mostly I just duck and nod.

The second response that trips me up is the "how did he die" question. It's always followed by this moment where I stare at them as wrap my mind around the fact that a perfectly innocuous, and usually pleasant, conversation just took a turn to the most painful and private part of my life. After the pause, they realize that something is a little off in the conversation and so follow up with some slightly embarrassed version of "just curious". That's the point where my heart quits sinking from the sadness that my conversation with this person is over and changes to being pissed. Royally pissed. Because now they've just flat-out admitted that the most private parts of my life are cocktail chatter, that I am the evening's entertainment.

What I usually manage to bumble out of my mouth is some version of "I don't (like/want to) talk about this" and then wander away as soon as I realize I have feet, which can take awhile. I say that to people I am most likely to run into again, friends of friends, etc.

What I really want to say, and have said to complete strangers on a few occasions is "how big are your tits/dick cause if you're interested in my most personal details I feel it's only fair that you fucking dish up as well." I want them to feel as shocked and as verbally raped as they just made me feel. Mostly it doesn't work. They just stomp off feelings post-justified in having been so invasive of my personal life. Kinda a 'she's such a bitch I don't have to feel bad for being a total ass to start.' Doesn't stop me from wanting to say it, though.

And I'll admit, I actually have to hold back on that tit/dick response Every. Single. Time. someone asks me about Steve's death. I'll admit one other thing. It doesn't make me feel any better to say something nasty than it does when I stumble out whatever version I can manage of 'thanks but no thanks, not sharing tonight'. There's just no response I've found that can put things back to feeling right after having been violated.

Recently, my mother reminded me of something my brother says that I'm going to try out. Here it is: "I'm trying to have a nice time here" and then he walks off. I'm just hoping that I can remember both the line and that I have feet in the moment. Cause mostly I'm so shocked, violated, sad, and angry that I couldn't tell you my name. But I'll give it a whirl cause the questions certainly aren't going to go away.

Which begs one last question: what is the best thing they could say? And ya know, I don't have the answer cause I have yet to hear it. But if I stumble across an answer, I'll be certain to share.

The Day the Earth Stood Still

“But it’s only on the brink that people find the will to change. Only at the precipice do we evolve”

- The Day the Earth Stood Still

My best friend...

Feels Like Summer

Steve ~

I haven't written to you in such a long time. When you first died, back when I was lucky to get four hours of sleep a night, I'd write you every morning. As soon as the sun came up I'd grab a cup of coffee and the notebook you used to keep music notes, and spend an hour watching the birds at the feeders while writing you how hard it was to face each day.

A lot has changed since then. A lot about me has changed since then.

Tonight I want to tell you about how it feels like summer.

I spent the day gardening. I started gardening a lot last year. Mostly it was something to do with my hands while I tried desperately to chase away the cycling thoughts of you. How much I loved you. How I failed you. How I missed you. How much I wanted to come find you. So I dug in the earth and told myself you were watching me. That I had to behave.

I bought two bleeding heart plants last year. I thought it apropos since it felt like my own heart was bleeding. I never managed to put them in the ground, though. Two weeks ago I went down to Lowe's and bought two more. I got them in the ground the day I brought them home. They're right next to the back porch where the rain is always washing the dirt uneven. Where the slate used to be. I dug up all the slate last year. I dug up the entire grown-over walkway of slate leading from the side gate to the shed. My plan had been to smooth the area out and plant grass. Never happened. But this year I started planting grass. It almost looks like a yard now.

I moved the bird-feeders again the this year. I moved them last year, as well. I think I may have even added a new one or two, but I can't exactly remember. There's so much about last year that I can't remember. But this year I finally got them right. I can see each feeder from any spot on the porch and the wind won't cluster them up again. I even bought some domes to hang over them so the squirrels have a more interesting time trying to rob the birds of their food.

I've managed to keep the feeders stocked since you died. Once or twice I've fallen into a funk and they ran dry but as you always told me: the birds come back when the food is back. The weather has been nice enough that I frequently sit on the back porch around dusk to watch all the birds come and feed. Do you hear me when I sigh and point out the babies fluffing themselves for mama bird? You always like the babies with their constant 'feed-me-now-mama' chirping. I don't feel as lonely without you here to watch them as I did last year. Can you see that, too? Does it make you happy?

I put in an addition to our bird friendly house today. I installed two cedar birdhouses on the back fence. They're supposed to be good for blue birds. I'm afraid I didn't get them up early enough to be used this spring. If not, there's always next year. These won't fall apart like the ones I painted several years ago. I don't think those were actually meant to be hung outside. You never complained when you had to stop your mowing to pick up the pieces, though.

I've been good about the mowing this year, too. I weed whack each time I mow and it makes a huge difference to the look of the place. Last year, I broke down crying every time I mowed. I would force myself to mow because I didn't want to slump on your chores. If you were looking down on me, I wanted you to be proud of the way I pushed through the pain. I wanted you to see me doing all the things you would want to do for me if you were here. Now I do it because it makes me feel good to have a nice looking yard. I enjoy the exercise and the making of my vitamin D.

I have a lot of projects to finish this year. Last year it seems I just tore things out with the plans of replacing or upgrading them. By the time I tore something out I was too upset to finish. I couldn't forgive myself for not having started and finished the project while you were alive to enjoy the change. I don't know if I'll get them all completed this year, as I've found several things I want to do that I'd never before considered. I'm rather excited about those. But did you hear that? I'm excited! I didn't think the day would come when I'd ever be excited to change anything ever again.

I still miss you like crazy, though. Tonight was the first night I had to light incense to keep the mosquitoes away. That smell always makes me look around to see if you're coming through the back door to join me on the porch. And I'm drinking our 'Eastern Shore' concoction. Cheap light beer mixed with clamato juice. I have a lot left over from the barbeque I threw last year. Seems my guests didn't like our drink as much as we did.

And because it was such a hot day I gave your dog a Frosty Paws. I found the box in the freezer after you died. I saw one was missing from the box already. I can't remember if I gave one to Belle last year or if that one was missing because you had given it to her before you died. It saddens me that I can't remember things like that. All the same, when I handed it to her, I told her it was a gift from Daddy for keeping me company in the yard. Do you know she still perks up when I say Daddy? I wonder if it's just habit or if she's still waiting for you to come home.

I know I was. I'm not anymore. And I can't figure out if that makes it easier, harder, or just different.

I love you. With all my heart. And I don't know if you can see me, but if you can, I hope you're proud of me. I was proud of you. Always.

- Karen