I never thought I'd get here

Is it OK to say this? I think I'm done grieving the loss of my husband.

Oh boy. I'm not sure about this. Just writing the words makes me feel uneasy.

It's been almost three years since Brian died. In these almost three years I have dwelt upon his death, worked hard to understand its effect on me, written extensively about Brian, cancer, death and widowhood, renewed my self and spirit through friendship, felt sorry for myself, experienced deep pain, sadness and loneliness, and adapted to life as a single woman. I used dating as a strategy to push away the pain of losing my husband only to find that in being rudely dumped by one guy I finally got it: my wonderful husband was actually gone and never coming back; there would be no repeat of the incredible piece of good fortune that was our meeting and our marriage. (It took almost three years to REALLY get that my terrific marriage was over, Brian was gone, and my life had to essentially restart in foreign territory.)

I once read that it takes a "significant life event" to make profound change occur once you've reached adulthood. Well, Brian's death was that event and I am now changed forever. I feel like a different person, a better person, a more content person, a more sober person. The contentment comes, ironically, from truly understanding that one day I will die and this wonderful life and all it holds will be gone. And so, I cherish it more and worry a whole lot less. I am not the same Kimberly I was before. I have lost a great deal. And yet, I think that I am through grieving. For now, that is. Because my "significant life event" has taught me that there is life on the one hand and loss on the other. Those hands are clasped together. You can't live without loss, you can only decide how to live well despite it.

Yet, I feel bad thinking that I'm done with grief, like I'm not supposed to ever be done. It's a fix I'm in. If I was still mourning Brian's loss and living in the middle of grief 20 years after his death certainly I would be stuck...I wouldn't have successfully managed to accept his death and to go on with my own life. But to believe that I have reached a place where I am no longer grieving? What does that mean?

Here's what it means to me:

I have accepted Brian's death and made a decision to live as well and as joyfully as I can anyway.

I can now think about Brian with primary emotions other than just despair or sadness or hopelessness or guilt or regret. Mingled in there now in equal measure are happiness, contentment, gratitude, joy, peace, and strength.

It will always be painful that Brian died. There will continue to be many moments that make me cry for the infinite absence, the hole, the lost future, the what-could-have-beens.

When someone dies, a common refrain the widow hears goes as follows: "Your memories will sustain you" or "He'll live on in your thoughts." I once wrote soon after Brian died that the thought of living on memories is like driving on fumes. But today, almost three years later, I'm starting to understand what it means to be sustained by memory. I will turn 35 years old this year. There is so much precious material to be mined in those almost three years now gone. I can see that now.

Once again, I can see a future that excites me instead of one that feels hostile, unknown and foreign. When Brian was sick and I feared he would die and leave me alone, I was filled with fear and dread so severe I couldn't live with it without turning to medication. After he died, my world felt as though it had crumbled. I actually had a dream in which the floor of my kitchen developed an enormous crater in the middle of it...my foundation was disintegrating.

I have rebuilt in these almost three years a completely different structure that may have more doors and windows. I feel more open to possibility, more willing to embrace change, more able to be just who I am without apologizing for myself, more inclined to see what's out in the world, even if it's unexpected. Loss has informed me: there is no one way to safety. There isn't safety. There's just experience, good, bad, neutral. When you live, when you're not dead, what you get is to experience. I compare myself to Brian who can't experience anything anymore: not love, not loss, not pain, not pleasure. I'd rather be alive to take it all on.

Yes, I think I'm done grieving for now. I never thought I'd get here. It was the hardest work I've ever done, but I'm glad I did it. I gave it my all.

Two years and...

A most extraordinary thing has happened. I met someone.

He makes me want to smile. He makes me want to laugh. He makes me want to be happy. He makes me smile. He makes me laugh. He makes me happy.

I thought I found this a little while ago, but I was wrong. That guy taught me that it is ok to love again and it really is ok to move forward...but he wasn't the guy who makes me want to be me.

I've learned these last few months that I can miss Brian. I can love Brian. I can also miss and love him now from a distance.

That is my two year milestone. I am really, truly, honestly, remarkably ok because I have Brian in my heart forever, even in a new relationship.

And even if this new relationship isn't quite official yet, I know I am going to be just fine.

The goal

If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you’ve probably picked up on the fact that I’m a huge fan of finding quotes that help get me through the day (or hour…or minute). It always helps to have a little motivation or inspiration during my weakest moments.  Not surprisingly, one of my favorite quotes was shared with me through a friend, and it seems to sum up everything I’m feeling. She said, “It’s not moving on. It's carrying on."

With this in mind, I’ve done my best to carry on and live my life in a way that would make Brian proud. It's devastating, frustrating and agonizing when I stop to think about how we were planning a life and a future for the two of us. We were building a life together. Instead, I find myself forced to make major life decisions on my own, which often leaves me angry and confused. Yet, I’m doing my best to see through the haze and rediscover what it means to be happy.

I’m hesitant to say I’m starting over. It seems to me that this is more like a new chapter in the ongoing story of my life, in which Brian will always be a major character. As part of this new chapter, I’m encouraging myself to get out of the house and explore. I want to meet more people and try new things. It’s far too easy for me to sit at home and stew in my thoughts. Don’t get me wrong…I have bad days and it’s not always easy to dive right in and meet new people. In fact, just the other day I found myself sitting on the couch with a pile of used tissues the size of Mt. Everest piling up next to me. The tears just kept coming.

However, I’m trying my best to not let these moments define me and my life. I accept them when they come, but I always try to remember the things I want to do in the years ahead and the adventures Brian wants me to have. For example, Brian promised me we’d go skydiving together, but he told me I wasn’t allowed to chicken out. We never got the chance to follow through with our deal, but after he died, I made a promise to myself and to Brian that I’d still jump out of a plane. It will be a nice reminder that buried under the sadness and hurt is the ability to still feel an overwhelming sense of joy.

I hope to have many exciting adventures in the days, months, and years ahead. Maybe one day I’ll find love again and have someone to share experiences with. I know without question that Brian wants that for me. Yet, I also know, from recent experiences in the dating/relationship pool, that I’ll never “move on”.

To me, there is no such thing. Brian will forever have a piece of my heart and will be with me everywhere I go. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My goal right now is to keep carrying on in pursuit of brighter days.

I feel (fill in the blank).

I just feel ______.

I'd really love to fill that blank with some word, something to put a definition behind.
I just don't know about anything anymore; uncertain about how I feel about the world and about myself. And now I can't just blame apathy because I know I'm feeling something. It's 3:37 am and I only know that I don't know anything.

Today, I asked myself "What am I looking for? What do I want?"

I suppose I meant from life. The only answer that I could think of was that I'm searching for some place/point/moment in time where everything isn't so gray. Where colors mean something, and I can look at a beautiful day and know what that's supposed to mean.

I think I am sad again. Before I think I was depressed, now I don't know. I think I'm just sad. At the moment I can't really say I hate anything. I feel anxiety when I think of my situation and try to pinpoint what I feel.

There are things I can't fix. These things that will never be fixed no matter how much I try to put a pretty bow around it. There are people I'd like to see again but I know I never will no matter how much I wish it.

Life just is.

It's not fair but that's life.

I’m just tired. I’ve been doing this for what feels like a lifetime and it's getting old. No matter what direction I take in life, I end up right back where I started.

There’s supposed to be some sort of happy ending but there isn’t.

There’s just me.

I am not contributing anything to this world. What is the point of being alive if you matter to no one? There is no point. Something inside of us makes us want to believe in the greater good...the fairy tale ending.

The story of endurance, and through that endurance, success.

That story may be true for some but it is not true for all. Some people are not loved or wanted. What does it benefit anyone to live in misery and then die alone? We are here to make a difference. To cry, laugh, grow, and in the end, say our lives meant something, no matter how small. What about those whose lives mean nothing? What about the people who are so insignificant that all that they are: their voice, their fingers, their thoughts, their dreams, can be wiped away and burned into dust without so much as a glance from the world.

Have you ever wished someone wonderful would just walk into your life one day who was always kind, upbeat, and caring, and wanted to always check up on you, spend time with you and try to cheer you up? Someone who never seemed to get sad and possessed some sort of mysterious immunity to hardship and loss? You would get to see them everyday and they were always very happy to see you.

You might wonder if they were either insane or had an ulterior motive at first, but you eventually realize they were simply friendly and good.

Wouldn't it be nice to have someone like that in your life? They could end up either as your best friend or even the love of your life.

I got lucky once. It most likely won't happen again. And that is not bitterness...that is the truth.

So today, I feel ______.

mending

Yes, I can feel my heart mending. Not healing, really, because I don't think it will ever be completely healed, but it will mend and have a permanent scar upon it.

But in the mending process I'm also finding out that it's growing a bit larger.

 

You see, I have met someone and we are truly enjoying each other and learning to care for each other.

 

I used to wonder how this would happen, especially since my heart was damaged beyond repair. But I get it now.

 

I thought that growth had stopped when Brian died, but I was wrong. It did stop...for a while. 

 

For almost two years, actually.

 

But now it's starting to grow. I can feel it stretching to a bigger size and I have to say that I LOVE the feeling.

 

Who knows where this new relationship will lead, and even if it doesn't, it will have proved to me that my heart is capable of growing in spite of its horrific loss.

 

It will have proved that I can move forward and that life can still be enjoyed and even celebrated for the things we encounter and learn. 

 

Don't get me wrong...Brian will never leave my heart...ever. He will just stay in a certain part of it from now on...and I'm sure he's just fine with that.

Love: ability or liability?

I’m on the fence about this one. And I’ll tell you why. I know you must be thinking that it’s because I’ve loved and lost...and that’s partially true. The truth is, I think I’m on the fence about it because I’m old.

I have loved. And I have lost. And, when it comes to love...I’ve gotten old.

I know that many of you are sitting there rolling your eyes and getting ready to hibernate your computers, thinking, “33? 33? And she says she’s old?”

But I think, when it comes to love we tend to age pretty quickly.

Since I’ve been trying to build a love life the second time around, I’m less open to new things. I went from losing my husband...to wanting to fill that void in my life...to learning (the hard way) that that wasn’t going to happen...to learning (and loving) how to be by myself...to trying to learn how to be with someone else again.

I went from feeling like love is a liability...to learning that it’s an ability.

The truth is, I actually think that most people my age (and older...and some, maybe younger) probably feel the same way. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been widowed, divorced, or never married: If you have made it to a certain age and have found yourself single...we’re probably all in the same boat.

I’m less bendable (mentally and physically). I’m more patient about learning about myself and somewhat less patient about someone else learning about himself (bitchy, but true). And I’m slowly getting to the point where I just like my life...even though it wasn’t the life I thought I was going to have.

Previously married or not...isn’t that kind of true?

In my first, vulnerable single days after 32 (yikes)...love was a liability. There was so much at stake. My sanity, for one. Breaking up or something not working out would have been enough to send me into a tailspin of epic proportions. I fluctuated between not having the time or heart to deal with someone else’s shit to not wanting someone else to have to deal with my own. I flopped around, like a fish out of water, hoping that someone would have the heart to gently throw me back in.

Relationships didn’t work out. And, true to the cliché... “it’s not you...it’s me.” Love meant heartbreak. Abandonment. Happiness, but with a price. It didn’t matter how much I was loved...I sabotaged anything I could get my hands on.

In short...I was the liability.

Golly, I wish I had thought to put that on my online dating profile. Just think of what a hot ticket I would have been.

There came a point (and truthfully...I don’t know when it happened) that that stopped. The ability to love grew. Like a toddler, it learned to walk. And in the childhood phase it learned to run. I like to think that it’s a teenager now: It’ll test you, but ultimately it’s something you might like in a few years so you should take a risk and stick with it for a little while.

I’ve started thinking that the ability to love is not something you just have. It’s something you learn. And sometimes relearn. And sometimes try and abandon while you’re relearning. And sometimes come back to on New Year’s Eve when you’re frustrated with being alone, have had too much wine, and register for eHarmony when you swore you would never do it again.

The point is...I don’t think that the ability to love just happens. Just like any other “ability” you have, you have to learn it. You didn’t just walk out of your mother’s womb...you had to figure it out. You may be a musical genius, but that didn’t happen without some effort.

Superman didn’t know what the hell to do with that cape the first time around...they just didn’t include that part in the movie.

Forever young

Okay...okay...I know I'm far from what our society considers "old."

I'm 33...and had just turned 32 two weeks before Brian died. He was 32 when he died.

Even though I am not "old" I can't help but despise each year that passes without Brian. I remember when I surpassed him in age, and *gasp* I was a year older than him...

I will continue to get older, while he will stay forever young.

I look at photos from these last two years and see the new wrinkles and gray hair that he never saw. I look at photos and know that one day I will look far different than what I looked like when he was alive.

But as much as I despise old Father Time...and the wrinkles that come along with him...

I love knowing I have them from the smiles I've been able to have since his passing...the "are you serious!?" faces, the laugh til your face hurts, the sitting in the sun content smile...the squinting lines from all the moments I shed the layers of grief and loss from my being.

As Brandi Carlile sang her song "My Story":

"...All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am. So many stories of where I've been and how I got to where I am..."

So I'll embrace the lines, the stories and the wrinkles I will continue to create as I get older.