Unstuck

This is how you get unstuck.

You reach.

Not so you can walk away from the husband you loved, but so you can live the life that is yours...the one that includes the sad loss of your husband, but is not arrested by it.

The one that eventually leads you to a place in which you not only grieve him, but also feel lucky to have had the privilege of loving him. That place of true healing is a fierce place.

It’s a giant place. It’s a place of monstrous beauty and endless dark and glimmering light. And you have to work really, really, really hard to get there, but you can do it.

I'm a woman who can travel that far. I know it. My ability to get there is evident in the life I've lead everyday since he died.

Year Four

As I mark the fourth anniversary of my husband's death this Monday (6 October) it always brings up so many emotions about what our future may have been. People have asked me over the years if I have “gotten over” his death.  I will never get over the loss, but I have reconciled myself to it.

That said, you probably wonder if I have been able to move forward with my life and how it’s even possible to do so? The simple answer is YES! I did find hope for my future and I did move forward with my life. Was it easy? Absolutely not. I took one day at a time, which turned into weeks, months, and now years.

Each year on the anniversary of his death, I do something meaningful (to me) to honor his death. This year, I want to honor his memory by making a donation in his name to an organization he loved. 

And I encourage you to do the same. 

His favorite charity was the Marine Corps Toys for Tots program. Contact your local representative, or log on to www.toysfortots.org and click on "in memory/in tribute" and donate in memory of Brian. 

Even in death, Brian has taught me so much. I’ve recently realized that he taught me something that most people do not know: to love deeply, honestly, and openly.

You'll need my address for TfT:

3240 W Sunset Ave  Eagleville, PA 19403

And my email:

kgo92278@gmail.com

What I've learned

If I've learned anything from life, it's that sometimes the darkest times can bring me to the brightest places. I've learned that the most toxic people can teach me the most important lessons; that my most painful struggles can grant me the most necessary growth; and that the most heartbreaking losses of friendship and love can make room for the most wonderful people. 

I've learned that what seems like a curse in the moment can actually be a blessing, and that what seems like the end of the road is actually just the discovery that I am meant to travel down a different path. 

I've learned that no matter how difficult things seem, there is always hope. And I've learned that no matter how powerless I feel or how horrible things seem, I can't give up. I have to keep going. 

Even when it's scary. Even when all of my strength seems gone. I have to keep picking myself up and move forward, because whatever I'm battling in the moment, it will pass, and I will make it through.  

I've made it this far. I can make it through whatever comes next. 

Letting go

To let go isn't to forget, not to think about, or ignore. It doesn't leave feelings of anger, jealously, or regret. Letting go isn't winning, and it isn't losing. It's not about pride, and it's not about how you appear, and it's not obsessing or dwelling on the past.

Letting go isn't blocking memories or thinking sad thoughts, and doesn't leave emptiness, hurt, or sadness. It's not giving in or giving up. Letting go isn't about loss and it's not defeat.

To let go is to cherish memories, and overcome and move on. It's having an open mind and confidence in the future. Letting go is accepting. It's learning and experiencing and growing. To let go is to be thankful for experiences that made you laugh, made you cry, and made you grow.

It's about all that you have, all that you had, and all that you will soon again. Letting go is having the courage to accept change, and the strength to keep moving. Letting go is growing up. It's realizing that the heart can sometimes be the most potent remedy.

To let go is to open a door, and to clear a path, and to set you free.

It's been three years

Three years ago, I said goodbye.

Three years ago, I lost my best friend, my love, my heart, my husband.

Three years ago, I said "I love you, Brian" for the last time.

Three years later, the burden of grief has been lifted. There are still days when I am incredibly, indescribably, sad.

But as the song goes, I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. It's not all rainbows and unicorns...I don't think it'll ever be that way for me again, because first love is blinding.

I have more sunny days, and sometimes I catch glimpses of what my life used to be when I'm off guard, or like now, when it's 4:30 AM and I've been awake for the last two hours.

I can smile at once was. I don't, for one second, regret the very short time I had with Brian. Perhaps it wasn't long enough, but it was enough.

Enough to teach me patience.

Enough to teach me kindness like I've never known before.

Enough to show me what humility, and courage, and strength looks like.

Enough to show me what love does and is and can be.

If I take away anything at all from the last three years, it will be that I loved him with everything that was in me.  And I will be forever grateful for having the chance to love and be loved.

Because Brian WAS love.

legacy

I recently read a book (and then watched the movie) called "Cloud Atlas" by David Mitchell.  

I count it as one of my top ten reads of all time.

It's not an easy read, either in content (lots of death and savagery), or in lightness (it's complex, you can't afford not to be 100% focused on the story or you will miss something important).

But this book spoke to me like no other book has done since Brian died. 

The themes of death and rebirth, life after life, connectedness between all souls both rich and poor, is something that resonates with me on a deeper level.

A character in the book, Sonmi-451 makes the connection between how our acts today form our future and the futures of those whose lives we are part of.

And I like to think that Brian's calm nature, his kindness and compassion, even when met with people who were ...ummm...exceedingly annoying (my view)...has in many ways, birthed the future. 

Not his, but mine.

And I realise what it is about this idea that I like so much...the realisation that THIS is Brian's legacy...

Kindness

I think that's a pretty good legacy to have left.

Old people. I'm old too.

I am jealous of old people. 

Every single old person that I see walking down the street. I am jealous of them. 
The bitter ones. 

The wrinkled up, exhausted by life ones. 

The healthy ones.

The sick ones.

The ones who have made it into their late 80's or even early 90's, and who are still walking side by side with their partners. 

The husband who grabs his wife's fragile hand, pulling her up that last small step, into their favorite diner. 

The wife who rubs soothing lotion or cream into her husband's back and neck, in places where he can no longer reach on his own. 

I am so jealous of them, I cannot see straight. Jealous that they exist. Confused as to why they get the honor of living so many years, and my husband doesn't. Angry that they know what it's like to spend decades upon decades with the same person by their side. Decades. It's the most beautiful word in the atmosphere, because we never made it to decades. Not even one decade. Not even half of a decade. We never even made it to 2 years.

It bothers me. It bothers me more than it should, perhaps. It bothers me that so many numbers move forward each year. 

The dates move forward: 2011, 2012, 2013 ... 

My age moves forward: 33, 34, 35...

Time moves forward. Time always moves forward. But when it does, the number of years that my husband and I were married will always remain the same. One year and 6 weeks. Never more. Never. 

That hurts. 

My marriage made me less afraid. Less afraid of life. Less afraid of growing old. Getting sick. Watching other people grow old or get sick. My marriage made me want the honor of being old together. Living life together. Facing pain and laughter and horrors and adventures and many ordinary, nothing special days - together. 

My husband used to do an impression of himself as an old guy. It was hilarious, and frighteningly accurate as to how he probably would have been. "I can't wait to be old!" He would joke with me. "It's gonna be awesome! I get to do whatever the hell I want, and everyone just writes me off as the old, senile guy. I can kick kids off my property and yell at people and drive all over the place, not looking out for anything or anyone. I can say inappropriate things and sit in my own filth and nobody will think twice about it. How great is that?"

He moved from Florida to New Jersey when he was a kid, so I always used to tell him that one day, we would move back to Florida together. When we are old and ready to croak - just like everybody else. We always laughed about what we would be like as an old couple, going to the Golden Corral for the $9.99 buffet at 4pm. Helping each other up those stairs. Home by 7 to watch Jeopardy.

It's not fair. I don't know how to grow old alone. I don't wanna do it alone. I need my teammate, my other half, so that I can be less afraid again. How am I supposed to do this without someone there to hold up my fragile bones? I know I shouldn't think about this stuff. I know. I should stay in the present. Live for today. But it's my nature. I'm a worrier. I can't help it. I lay awake at night, thinking about being old. Thinking about having to one day face the death of my parents - without my husband by my side. How the hell am I supposed to do that??? HOW??? The very thought of it gives me chills, and makes my skin sweat. Facing things that are scary, without him. Forever. 

That hurts. 

Time moves forward. Life moves forward. But our marriage stays stuck at just over a year, and he will never be an old man. I will have to be an old woman, and he will never be an old man. 

What would he have looked like? How would he have acted? I will never know those things. But I do know this ....... 

I turned 35 yesterday...he will still be 32. When I am 50, he will be 32. When I am 70, 80, 90, gone ... 

He will be 32. He will always be 32.

Forever. 

And time will keep pushing on .