No More Firsts

I made it.

Where It All Began

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the worst day of my life. But many people read my nightly blog posts the following morning, so it seems fitting to get this all out as I prepare to settle in for the night and wake up on May 18th - a sad, scary day which also happens to be my new Day One. Today is the last day of my year one. Today I described my first 365 days as a widow as "this terrible, crazy, eventful, beautiful year."

When I began this blog last May, I did it with the intention "to grieve, learn, accept, and adapt." I also did it "to cope, heal, and to reach." Those are the words I chose to use in the first post I ever wrote here.  Those were my intentions... and I believe I have succeeded.

On May 26th, just a week after Rick left this world, I began this blog, stating:

"A new beginning has presented itself to me, and though it was not my choice, I am choosing to welcome it."

How do you welcome a life-altering event with open arms? How do you relinquish control and give yourself over to the process? How do you move forward each day without expectations, just gratitude?

These are the questions I've asked myself over the course of the last year. And the answers to these questions lie in the posts archived here. The posts are the process, bared for all to see. This has been work. The answers to those questions lie in the work. I have worked very, very, very hard not only to live an authentic and fulfilling life after grief, but I have chosen to share that step-by-step journey with you.

This blog has sent more things my way than I could ever have imagined. I have gained surprise readers who have made an incredible impact on my life. I have been sent anonymous packages. I have developed relationships with strangers who have been through similar experiences. I have deepened existing relationships with friends and co-workers. I have been the recipient of random acts of kindness by way of cookies, cakes, letters, cards, cold medicine, tea, coffees, etc. - and I don't mean just in the first week after Rick's death. The love and support and sweetness has been ongoing, sporadically showing up over the course of this past year.

In good and bad ways, I have been shown the true nature of those in the world around me. I have been guided by a number of people, including my friend Pastor Ginny, the residents I serve, my parents, my best friend's mom, and even myself. I have been surprised, again and again, by the messages, comments, and emails that this blog has generated.

But most of all, I've been surprised by life itself. In a lot of ways, so much has been taken from me...but I have gained so much from this experience too, as strange as that might sound. I believe I have gained so much, because I chose to enter this transition LOOKING for all the positives. Look and you will see. Seek and you will find. 

That's not to say I haven't had my awful moments. I have been sad, angry, hurt, lonely, and confused. And everything has been documented here. But the only way out is THROUGH - so I let myself feel all those things instead of pushing them away or hiding them somewhere no one could see. 

One year ago, my mind spinning with shock, sorrow, and things to do, I sent a Facebook message to Heather, my best friend's mom (and also a widow), part of which said:

"Maybe I'll start a new blog called The Cat Widow. 
Even in my grief, I think about a clever blog. WTF."

The next day, I made my half-joking musings a reality and this blog was born. When I began it, I had a vision of a site where I would daily chronicle my grieving process. And I have to admit, I do have a serious sense of pride in knowing that I committed and held fast to that vision without fail. I have written every single day, with very few exceptions, over the course of the last year. 12 months. Hundreds of days.

Today, I was contemplative all morning...running through feelings of gratitude for various people...putting together the pieces of the past year, if such a thing is even possible. I talked about some hard stuff with my co-worker friend Chelle. She thoughtfully brought me a piece of homemade cheesecake. At home, my friend Jennifer and I toasted to Rick's life. I'm mentally preparing for tomorrow...Monday...May 18th...a rough remembrance and a new Day One of a new year ahead for me.

This is not the end of the journey. I'm not ending the blog - at least not today. But don't be surprised if daily posts become bi-weekly posts, or bi-weekly posts become weekly posts.

My life, like these daily blog posts, has been tagged with the key words widow, death, suicide, husband, grief, loss, life... But I'm looking ahead, to key words like happiness, resilience, and love.  

Waiting for Sleep

Last night, I had two nightmares...but then I had a pretty interesting dream.

I was sitting in the backseat of a moving car. Someone was driving me, but I'm not sure where I was heading. I had my hands in my lap and I was looking out the side window of the car, watching everything passing by. 

All of a sudden, an older man in the front passenger's seat turned around to look at me. With an awed look, he said, "All I want is to one day be as happy as you are."

And in that moment, it was like I realized how happy I was inside...and I smiled at him like I knew a secret. 

Today was okay and tonight involved a lot of laughing with two of my work friends. I am good at getting right in the moment and living in it so that I can push away any scariness or sadness. I'm still fairly anxious about the rest of the weekend + Monday...but I know that soon it will be over and I'll have hit all the milestones. 

At this moment, I'm living the worst part... that feeling of coming home to an empty house after a fun night...lying alone in the darkness, thinking...

It's time for bed... And hopefully good dreams instead of bad ones.

Thoughts Aloud

Today when I got home from work, I found myself walking around my house aimlessly, putting dirty laundry in the hamper, feeding my cats, replacing paper towels, looking in the refrigerator, staring at my calendar, gazing out the window...

I found myself standing in my living room, saying out loud to my cats, "Well guys, we did it. It's been almost a year. Can you believe it?"

Then I laughed at myself. 

But then I kept talking. "I wasn't sure what this would look like. I wasn't sure what a year into the future would look like. There have been some surprises, most of them good. Do you remember last May? Can you believe how different everything feels now?"

My cats didn't answer me, of course, but they listened just the same. 

Almost There

I feel as though I am involved in a countdown of sorts. I'm just waiting for Monday to show up and pass. A year of pain over. I want to check it off a mental to-do list. I want to breathe that sigh of relief. I think I am feeling a bit of anticipation anxiety about the 18th. 

I feel healed and healthy and happy... I feel in charge of my life... but I am afraid (perhaps unnecessarily so) of the resurgence of memories associated with May 18th. I am afraid of the scary stuff. I am afraid of the pit that settles in my stomach when I think about that day. It's a flashback problem. A remembrance of sadness. I can feel myself worrying already about my emotions on Monday.

Knowing myself as I do, the two most difficult parts will be 1) going to sleep on Sunday night alone, thoughts tumbling around in my head and 2) waking up on Monday morning alone, remembering what that day held for me last year, remembering all it represents, feeling alone. I have kicked fear to the curb so many times this past year - and it's been one hell of a year - but I'm afraid of Sunday night into Monday morning. There is something about being alone with the heaviness of such a tragedy that makes a person feel helpless. 

I don't want to re-live that day. But almost as though there is a sentence or a deadline, I know I will. And I can't stop that... and I am afraid. 

A date has no power over me. I am bigger and stronger than any day, no matter how significant. But still... it's my first time... and I am scared.

It's a vulnerable weekend here upon me. I can't believe it's here. I made it...almost.

A Great Day

Today is Rick's birthday. As I stared at the greeting cards last night at Wegman's, it felt weird not buying him a card. But...

Despite the fact that I couldn't sleep and woke up and went into work way too early, today was not weird.

In fact...

Today was a great day.

Capable

One word kept popping into my head tonight as I pondered this wonderful thing called life and the roller coaster of the past year:

capable (adjective)
- having the ability, fitness, or quality necessary to do or achieve a specified thing.
- open to or admitting of something.
- able to achieve efficiently whatever one has to do; competent.

I was capable. I am capable. I will be capable.
I endured. I lived. I prevailed.

The door on my first year as a widow will close in less than 2 weeks... and here I sit, cats at my side, happy dreams in my head, and a computer screen in front of me... totally and utterly capable.

It's Coming

We are fast approaching May. Last May was the worst month of my life. I can hardly believe it is about to be May again. It doesn't seem possible.

And yet... in most ways, it seems ages ago. I feel as though I've been living this life for such a long time. I am used to living alone. I am used to total independence. I am used to being the woman who writes on a widow blog each night.

But all that can change too.

May is a month of transition... I welcome it this year in ways I could not welcome it last year. So much is happening around me and inside of me. I sense change and promise brewing. I sense relief. I will finally be free of the most difficult year of my life. I am ready to release this past year - spring to spring - May to May - and completely begin again. In truth, I have never been more ready.

Today Was My Wedding Day

So today would be my 7 year wedding anniversary.

7 years ago today, I was waking up at my parents' house, getting ready with my bridesmaids, and rushing to a church to walk down the aisle to Rick. In fact, right now, I was a few hours married...dancing the night away.

It feels as though it might as well be 70 years ago.

You have no way of knowing how things will turn out. You put in fancy earrings and talk to your mom for the last time as a single woman in the house where you grew up, ready to embark upon a marriage journey at 23.

The photos show me looking basically the same as I do now, but I've aged so much inside these past 7 years. When you're taking charge on your parents' front porch, trying to instruct the photographer what you want him to do, you don't foresee widowhood at 29. 

When you're laughing in the sun, excited for a new life, you can't know that financial hardship and the emotional pain, depression, chronic pain, and alcoholism of your mate will one day shake your world. 

I loved Rick and Rick loved me. He taught me a lot in the 7.5 years I was with him and during the 6 years we were married. Today would be 7 years, but I want to stop counting...because he is not here anymore and I've moved on. That time is over, and in truth, I feel that girl is gone. A better, wiser version is now in her place.

As with anyone who has been married and then not been married (no matter the circumstances), my marriage to Rick will always be a part of me. We went through a lot together and made a lot of memories. That won't go away. And that is totally okay. Because it happened. But it doesn't mean I won't be happy again. Or even happIER. I've learned a lot along the way and I know that second chances exist. I also know what I want and don't want in a way I didn't know at 23.

People say your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. And I was happy in those photos. I was happy on my wedding day. But...here's the thing about the way this crazy world works: I'm even happier now.

A new life is difficult to begin. But beautiful things are waiting... happiness exists beyond past happiness... we can have what we want... surprises find us. Our past has a place, but our future can be brighter still. And I know wherever he is, Rick is so happy I've figured this out.

Walking on Sunshine

Rick's been dead 11 months today. ...But today was a good day. The morning was awesome, the afternoon was spent soaking up sun and chatting with my mom, and after some errands, the evening has been relaxing and full of heartfelt daydreaming. 

In fact, I just finished writing out my thoughts somewhere else tonight... so I don't feel my heart has anything left to put here until tomorrow. 

I'm sunburned/tan, tired, and happy. 

The Wild Frontier

Here I go, counting time again. The 18th of the month is upon us. It's now 10 months I've been a widow. I looked back through some old posts just now and came across the one I called Braving the Frontier. I wrote it when I was just 2 months a widow:


Lately, I feel like the heroine of one of those old movies. The ones in which there's a young wife who goes out to the frontier or the old west or some equally remote place with her husband. And then her husband suddenly dies. And there she is, this young widow, out on her own...trying to make her way. Trying to be bolder than she feels. Stronger than she looks. She struggles to survive the winter...or the demise of her farm...or life in a new town... Whatever the premise, I feel like that young widow. Forced to go it alone on the rugged terrain of life.

I kind of chuckle to myself when I ponder this. She always puts her boots on and scurries outside, ready to do what she has to do. She always surprises everyone around her. She always learns a lesson about independence / finds love again / changes the town in which she lives.

She always comes out on top.

If there's one thing I've learned in my 29 years and 9 months on this earth, it's that real life is nothing like the movies. It's way more interesting.

So I'll pull my boots on and brave the frontier.

Many months later, I still chuckle as I imagine myself the heroine of such a plot. I can see how the story is unfolding and it makes me smile. I strain to hear the soundtrack in the background, rising and falling - crescendo after crescendo as I face life head-on, meeting challenges, fighting for what I want, and of course, having fun in spite of the trials and tribulations that inevitably come my way. I am every bit as wild as this frontier.

And it's always a good idea to laugh at yourself. Roll credits.

Surprise

2 months ago, I posted this short entry about fear: Every Risk.

I re-read it tonight and nodded along. I remember when I made that promise to myself. It's funny though, because when we make promises to ourselves, we aren't able to predict what will transpire along life's path. I continue to be taken by surprise.

Surprises are inevitable, I suppose. And I tell myself that I must try to remember that there is a plan for me and surprises may be a part of it. I will welcome them, I will welcome them.

Tomorrow, I meet with my attorney "to finalize the estate." There is no estate, so I'm not exactly sure what my appointment will entail. I was left with nothing. Just the money in my checking account, which was not much considering Rick was collecting unemployment when he died and we were living paycheck to paycheck. I sold his car to pay for the funeral. I know there's some money in his retirement account, but it's not much. And I haven't had access to it yet, even 9 months later. The business side of death is ridiculous.

I can't wait for this to all be over. I can't wait to break away from this heavy, disconnected paperwork that holds me back from feeling free.

There is more to life than money, more to life than assets, more to life than material things we collect over the years. I am happy with what I have. So many people have much less.

Only Human

Today I opened the last envelope from the anonymous widower.

Music has helped me immensely as well. I have clung to it for months, letting it fill me up. Many of my earlier blog posts talk about music. In fact, what's so strange is that one of the songs - 3 Things by Jason Mraz - listed in the card above is the very song I called my theme song back in July when I was only 2 months into grief. I wrote about it here and made a video slideshow (link is to the old post) of me through photos from my first 2 months of grief. That song was very special to me.

I just watched that old video again, remembering the girl who wore black... then kept her nails painted black... who went for countless runs outside to clear her head... who cried herself to sleep every night... who went to work every day and did her job without fail and with a smile... who pushed on tirelessly. I watched that video just now and remembered that girl so much my heart ached and even though my attitude was good back then, I'm so glad I've progressed further. I'm so glad I've made it this far without once losing my sense of self.

Tomorrow it is 9 months exactly since Rick took his own life. The 18th of every month is always a bit of a "thing" until I hit the 1 year mark. I am kind of counting months as I go, involuntarily marking how far out I am in this whole fabulous first year of grief. Oh how it feels like 9 years sometimes instead of 9 months...

I want to thank the anonymous stranger who sent me such an unexpected Valentine package. It was many things, but most of all, it was kind. Kindness is big in my book. I don't know what to say in response to such a kind gesture, so I will simply say "thank you" and figuratively nod my head in respect that it takes one to know one (widow/widower, that is).

And tonight, I need to say something else that's been on my mind. Grief alters us. And it's supposed to. All life experiences change us. Circumstances mold us. But grief aside, profound nightly blogging aside, positive attitude aside, I'm only human, everyone. I'm not extra-special and I'm definitely not perfect. I'm human. I feel crazy emotions. And I let myself feel them. I give in to things that make me feel good, because I want to feel good. I do stupid things. I make mistakes. I get carried away. I get caught up in life and the things it has to offer me. I have clouded judgment sometimes. I take risks. I get lonely. I want things. I say yes. I push back. I ask questions. I dare to wonder. I mess up. I act on instinct. I look for escape. I figure things out as I go. I get in trouble. I fall. I get back up. I fall again. I get back up.

I am no different than the rest of the world. I'm no better. I'm not above screwing up. I'm not above being selfish. I'm only human.

And I'd rather be a human with a sense of joy, fun, wonder, and boldness than a robot with a life that goes according to script. 

Just Another Day

Today I went to the dentist for my 6 month check-up and all I could think of as I laid in the chair was, "The last time I was here, Rick was still alive." Music played over the sound system - the same easy listening stuff that usually plays there - and I willed myself not to cry as emotional songs came on. It was kind of like a weird form of torture, to have to lie there motionless with instruments in my mouth while listening to sad songs I've purposely avoided for the last 6 months.

Tomorrow it will be 6 months that Rick's been dead. I touched my wedding rings with my other hand as I laid in the dentist's chair, marveling at how something as mundane as going to the dentist can evoke such emotion.

When it was over, I stood at the reception desk with my calendar open, ready to schedule my next appointment 6 months down the road. The receptionist flipped 6 months ahead. "How about May 18th?" she asked. I shuddered involuntarily.

"Any day but that day," I said quietly. The one year anniversary of Rick's death. Who knows how I'll be memorializing. Who knows what I'll be doing that day. But I definitely don't want to be at the dentist.

Already experiencing a weird 6 month journey in my mind while in the dentist chair, only to hear someone say the words "May 18th" and catapult me into next year felt really odd.

Sometimes I feel like the words "May 18th" are my words. Like no one else should say them. The worst day of my life. But to most people, it's just another day.