Untitled

For the last 3 days I've been turning something over and over in my head. I am SO ready to write, but just can't seem to settle on a new blog title. I have a million and one *ideas* but none of them translate to a blog title that makes me proud. I don't think it's my perfectionist tendencies coming out...rather, I think it's that I am trying to pigeon hole what I have to say into a tiny category in order to give it a name. I didn't realize that until Jeff essentially stated it for me.

I'm frustrated, because I feel like unless I'm writing I'm not really living. I wasn't sure how to put it into words until just now...but that's it. Unless I'm writing, I feel like I'm not really living.

For me, living is awesome...full experiences peppered with emotions...people...places...things...but until I write about it, it's like a beautiful sketch without the paint. For me, writing is what gives my cherished experiences their color. Then they stay in my mind, blazing with vibrancy and hue for years to come.

There are still people who read The Cat Widow. There are people who, even now, become newly widowed and find it through the internet, reading through every post as though I still write daily. It will always have a place. It will always have a purpose.

I'm ready, though, to leave it all behind...to keep it published on the web as a chapter of my life I went through...as a chapter of my life to which I had to give voice...but to end it and instead transition to a new chapter and a new blog.

As of yet untitled, that blog is coming...

Birthday Reflection Fueled by Love

I know it's been a while since I've posted. It wasn't because nothing was happening. On the contrary, it was because so much was happening. There are so many things I could have shared...so many things I could have written...but the fact of the matter is, I have been (at least in part) holding back on the blog out of respect and privacy for the man who has (in a nutshell) lit up my life.

Much to my surprise, I found love again. I turned around and it was there. I didn't even know what was happening until it had already happened.

It felt like: Is this real? Is this right? But wait, is this real? Oh my God, it is.

I love the way he makes me feel. I feel like things are falling into place. When I look into his eyes, I see so many things...and all of them are amazing.

He is thoughtful, fun, nonjudgmental, smart, confident, and passionate about life. He makes me feel good. He is respectful of me and of my situation. I feel excited about life with him. He understands me, because our personalities have so many threads of the same fabric. He loves me for who I am. He's the kind of person you want to be around. He knows what he wants and he makes it happen. And he is unapologetic for who he is, a quality I realized is almost as important as confidence and zest for life.

I have been in love before...but I have never felt this way about anyone before. I don't want to lose it. It's too awesome.

I see so much happiness in my future as it evolves. I'm almost scared to write that down.

There are times it seems almost too good to be true that I could have so much fun with someone, but also be so comfortable too...that I could giggle easily and freely but also feel so understood...that I could continue to be surprised but also feel that I've known him much longer than I have.

When I look at him...whether he is making me dinner in the kitchen, talking to the football game on TV, laughing at something I've said, or kissing me good bye, I'm just so...happy. How can a person do that to another person?

I can't remember the last time I felt so...wonderful...in the presence of another person. Although it sounds downright cheesy to admit it, there have been nights I've fallen asleep saying to myself, "Thank you, thank you, thank you for this person being sent to my life."

There is risk in every endeavor in this life. We can't predict the outcomes. But for this - I'd risk it all. Every day I wake up happier than the day before, full of gratitude that I took a risk on love...because to not take a risk would be an insult to this astounding and amazing gift that's presented itself.

I sit here, one day after my 31st birthday...nearly one and a half years a widow...thinking: This is the kind of feeling I've been waiting for my entire life. 31 years may not be a long time, but I know that if I searched for 31 more years, I would never find such depth of feeling again with someone else. This gift of passionate yet fulfilling love and companionship was knocking me on the head, smacking me in the face, jumping up and down screaming THIS IS IT! DON'T MESS THIS UP! DON'T IGNORE THIS! THIS IS THE REAL THING!

He will make me better, I will make him better, and incidentally, life will be better for both of us.

He once asked me somewhat incredulously, "Don't you want anything?"

The truth is, I want happiness. I want to be allowed to be happy. And I want to share that happiness with the person who makes my whole being feel alive. I don't want material stuff. Or the best of everything. I don't want the things money can buy. I want time, memories, touch, fun, and emotion. I want to live. And I want love. Real love. And...holy shit...I've found it.

Check In

It's been over a month since I last blogged. I find that these days, the more I have to say, the less I write. 

But I miss the blog, you miss the blog, we all miss the blog...and while my posts may be more sporadic, the blog is still here. 

The new job is going well. I still find that I miss my old job, especially around 8:45 every morning when my internal clock tugs on my heart and tells me it's time for morning meeting and I'm not there around the table with my former co-workers. There is a part of me that feels as though I'm on vacation and will be returning at any moment. And yet...I'm working hard, so I don't feel as though I'm on any kind of "break." I am learning the new job more and more every day, solid with my social work skills and fine-tuning everything else that goes along with my new position. I feel good about where I am, but I'm still adjusting. 

I do feel called to the work I am doing. I do feel privileged to work with people as they move through dying, death, and grief. The process is an honor. 

As tumultuous as life can be, my inner happiness grows each day. And I can tell it is more and more visible to those around me. I do not have the perfect life...and a perfect life is not my goal. Instead, I hope to navigate through difficulties with grace, work through mistakes with humility, and remain ever grateful for the things and the people which have entered my life. 

The light is definitely back in my eyes... I can't fake it, I can't shake it, and despite life's challenges and my own shortcomings, I am taking one day at a time with a smile. As my blog falls silent or only whispers a post from time to time, know that I am moving forward...know that I am happy.

Bright Sun

My first week at the new job has come to a close. I feel good about my decision to leave my last place of employment, but I have to admit that I miss my old job terribly. I am struggling to get into a new groove, and while I know it will happen, it hasn't happened yet.

I have met a lot of great people at my new job...and the work itself is rewarding and just the right amount of challenging.

As is typical when meeting new people, I have been asked questions that require me, for some reason or another, to tell my story of widowhood.

"What brought you to hospice?"

"Why were you interested in working with families dealing with grief and loss?"

"Are you married? Do you have children?"

"Where do you live? Do you live alone?"

Sometimes my response is brief. Other times, there is more explanation. Often, my answers create more questions. It still amazes me how many questions people ask. The shock value is always there, even though I never intend it. People see a young woman in front of them, cheerful, positive, smiling brightly, eager to do a job, quick to make a joke, and even quicker to laugh. They see bouncing curls and pretty clothes. And then it all gets broken open for them when they discover I'm a widow, a survivor left behind in the wake of a tragic suicide, or someone who has dealt with unimaginable loss. I guess I just don't look like someone who has dealt with great loss.

I don't prance around, telling my tale for all to hear. I simply respond to the questions as they arise. It's normal for people to discuss their personal lives, so there's really no way around my story once the chit-chat begins and the usual questions come up.

That said, I don't feel like a widow too much these days. I have so much burning inside me - so much life and excitement and love. I read once that being vague while speaking or writing makes a person's words seem more powerful...but I don't believe that. I have never liked being vague. I think being direct and honest is far more powerful (and empowering). But bear with me...

I look forward to the day when I can tell a different tale to those who ask me questions. I look forward to the freedom of being direct at all times. I look forward to being able to share as many good things as I have shared bad. I look forward...

The week began with pouring rain which continued for a few days, but has ended with bright sun.

What's Cooking

Tonight I did something I haven't done for a long time: I cooked a real recipe. 

Over a year ago, back when Rick was still alive, it was typical for me to cook several nights a week. I made meals that lasted for more than one night, but I cooked a lot. I had a whole binder of collected recipes and I flipped through it every weekend in order to make my shopping list so I could plan our week. 

I considered myself a decent cook and a lover of food.

Once Rick died, I went through that initial period of wanting to do nothing "extra." People brought me food, they sent me food, they froze food for me, and some even did my grocery shopping. When that period ended, it still felt too taxing to cook. Any free time I had was devoted to taking care of business - the business of death. I had an endless to-do list full of more pressing matters than making meatloaves or casseroles.

Once the paperwork, phone calls, bill paying, and appointments finally tapered off, I found that making dinner for one was a) difficult and b) kind of annoying. It actually annoyed me to think about having to make meals for myself. So much prep and zest was my usual way in the kitchen, but with only me left to enjoy the fruits of my labor, everything was a letdown. Cooking was no longer enjoyable.

Over the past year, I made a meal a couple of times for my friend Jennifer and me when we watched the Gilmore Girls on a Wednesday night, but that was somewhat different - it felt more like cooking for a purpose (and a person other than myself) once again.

Once a wife who cooked, I resorted this past year to picking up salads on my way home, ordering a random pizza I'd proceed to eat for 3 days, or going out to dinner with friends. I even found that I began to tailor my eating habits to having my main meal for lunch where I could eat with my co-worker friends and then eating something smaller for dinner when I was alone. I can name several local places who know my face if not my name (Salad Works, WaWa, Primo Hoagies, Panera Bread), because they became the frequent provider of Widow Dinner as I made my way home from work.

About once a week, I ate at my parents' house. I also tried buying frozen bags of Italian food or frozen pizzas, but that annoyed me almost as much as considering cooking real food because it felt lesser, as if I was demoting myself from a woman who used to cook to someone who didn't know how. Bags of frozen food I bought months ago are still sitting in my freezer, unmade. Around once a week, I ate at my parents' house. On nights when I didn't grab something on the way home or call for some kind of delivery, I realized that I ate things like Parmesan goldfish crackers or cheese and pepperoni after a heavy lunch at work, which seemed pathetic and less than well-balanced.

Well, tonight I made Creamy Tomato Tortellini Soup. It wasn't a very difficult recipe, but it was a real meal that I actually created from an actual recipe. I even chopped cloves of garlic for it. I'll eat it with a salad.

Tonight, I did something else I haven't done for a long time: I cried. And not for something I've shed tears for in the past. I cried tonight for a different kind of loss: the loss of my former job. I found myself with a horrible lump in my throat as the reality set in that I wouldn't be driving to my former place of employment tomorrow morning. And then I felt tears form in my eyes...and the thought that actually made me cry was my former co-workers/office neighbors listening to the radio trivia in the morning and how I wouldn't be there to help them guess the answer. I pictured my office-that's-not-my-office-anymore and the fact that tomorrow is the Lessons in Loss support group I used to lead with Pastor Ginny and I won't get to hear what the residents talk about. And Ashlee's probably going to ask what's for lunch, but she won't be asking me...

It's a bit tangled in my heart... because I really want to be there...but I also don't want to be there. I know I did the right thing by moving onward...and I know I don't have to say goodbye to the people I met at my old job...and I'm not sorry I'm heading to a new, exciting, good job in the morning...but it feels really WEIRD.

Weird isn't bad. For now, it's just weird. And I have to remind myself that no amount of tears changes the fact that I took control of my life to do this. I chose to leave. And I'm happy about it. It sets the stage for the rest of my life in a bunch of awesome ways, and I go to sleep knowing that. So in true Cat Widow fashion, I'm going to taste my comforting soup, wipe my eyes, and toast to new beginnings.

Sparks

There are people we meet who ignite a spark within us, people who pop into our lives and suddenly it's like they have always belonged there. The unexpected, when it's terrible and painful, is brutal - a reality check and a loss of ground. The unexpected, when it's beautiful and awesome, is exhilarating - a dream come true and a lesson in inner happiness.

It's exciting when you find parts of yourself in someone else. It's meaningful when the presence of another person makes you look forward to tomorrow. 

Some things are better left unsaid, tucked away into a quiet place in the heart. There is plenty of time for stories, explanations, and thoughts. Right now, it's good to just feel good. 

Today was my last day at my job before I embark on a new professional journey - nervous, eager, and full of anticipation for all the good that is yet to come...

Changes

Two weeks ago today, I resigned from my current job and gave 4 weeks' notice. I have two weeks left. In July, I will begin a new journey - head first in the field of grief and loss - as a Hospice Social Worker for a large health network. I'm excited. Helping people as they die, helping people as they cope with the death of those they love, walking through the bereavement process day after day - those are the things I know I can offer with compassion and skill.

It's bittersweet. I will miss my current place of employment, my current co-workers, and the residents I serve. But for multiple reasons, it's time to move on. 

This new position is one of many changes to come. There's more in store and probably more to say. Stay tuned. My blogging days aren't over. 

On the Brink

There are things to share. The journey hasn't ended simply because I hit a year and stopped writing daily. 

Changes are brewing. Everything is swimming around...but at the same time, everything is opening up - a wide expanse of opportunity. And even on top of that, things are falling into place. I'm not exactly sure how those three things can happen all at once, but they are.

I think back to what I was doing and how I was feeling this time last year. Oh my...what a different story was being told. I was navigating my way through my first month as a widow, shell-shocked and dazed, overwhelmed and raw with pain and disbelief. 

This June is significantly different...so much so that I feel I've lived at least 3 lifetimes since this time last year. 

Life continues to amaze me. And surprise me. And comfort me.

I have things to share. Stay tuned. 

I'm Still Here

It's been a week without blogging and it feels good... but as I used to say on my old blog: through a writer's eyes, the world is a tale to be told...

And I'm a writer, no question about it.

So I need to write.

Maybe not every day, but I need to write.

I've been thinking a lot about the reach of writing. I'd like to write a book. The thing is, I already have a book. Here. On this blog. Hundreds of posts would certainly add up to hundreds of pages... and sure, it's written in daily format... the process mapped out day by day... but that was kind of the point.

And what do I do? Seek out an agent to help me get this work to a publisher? Say, "Here is my life, all tied up with lessons on grief and loss and living. Help me throw it out into the world," and cross my fingers?

So many people are reading the blog. So many new people still join the ranks of readers all the time. They whisper it to me when they see me for that fleeting moment, as I go about my day in the Lehigh Valley. They email it to me. They search me on Facebook to send me a private message. "I'm reading."

Thank you for reading... and thank you for telling me. I know you want to know how the story ends. I won't stop writing.

I've written children's books, poetry, short works of fiction, novels, research studies, and articles... I have a collection of literary works just waiting in the wings... most of which need to be re-done due to how long ago they were written... but THIS... all the writing here on this blog is what I need to say most right now.

Perhaps one day soon a new blog will exist as my identity as the cat widow fizzles out to make way for new things...but this one will always have a place. And maybe, just maybe, that place is not limited to the world wide web.

Ceremony at Sunrise

Back in September of 2014, I wrote a post called Ashes to Wind, and I envisioned what I'd do when I finally scattered Rick's ashes in Maine. I've had a picture in my mind of what I wanted that event to look like... and here I am, fulfilling it at last.

Today, to mark a year, to say good bye, to fulfill his wish, and to get some closure around his death since there is no grave and abruptly never got to see his face or body again, I scattered Rick's ashes near the sea.

A ceremony of one.

Just before sunrise, I walked the Marginal Way and I settled myself in a cove of stone and sea to read Rick the letter I wrote.

Dear Rick,

Here I am, sitting along the Marginal Way, near the “mermaid rocks” where you took my picture several times. The last time I was here, you were here too. I can’t believe a year has passed…but at the same time, I feel that I am already living a new life. I think that you’d be proud of me. In fact, I can almost hear you say, “You did it, kid. Way to go, A.” 

There have been times along the way when I’ve been angry at you for putting me through something so tragic…so traumatic…so heartbreaking. There have been times when I’ve been frustrated I couldn’t get answers to some of my questions. There have been times of loneliness and times of feeling sorry for myself. There have been times of stress and sadness. There have been times of confusion and pain. But in spite of all that, and actually because of all that, I’m living a new life. And so, as strange as it sounds, I want to thank you. 

I will never fully understand why you did what you did, and I will always be sad that you put out your own light…but even in the midst of your emotional pain and desperation, I know you knew I’d be all right. I lost count during the years of the number of times you told me I was “amazing” or “full of energy.” You always saw a resilient creature who could easily make her own happiness. You knew I’d find my way through the darkness you created. 

It’s been quite a year, Rick. I don’t have to tell you all the things I did, because you already know. You always thought I was a great writer, but I think I’ve surprised even you with the daily blog I’ve kept for the world to read. What a journey this has all been. What a year I’ve had since you’ve been gone. 

It’s strange to say good bye to you again when you’ve already been gone a year. But I need to let you go. I came back here to leave a piece of you as you wished, and to say good bye. 

So many times this past year, when I’d cry out of the blue, a grief burst socking me in the stomach, I’d find myself whispering, “I’m sorry.” It took me a while to even realize I was saying that as I’d wipe my tears. I think I was apologizing for not being able to help you. I know what happened wasn’t my fault, and I know I don’t have to take responsibility for anything, but I’ve always been so sorry that you could be so low and not get what you needed out of life. I wish it could have been different. I’m sorry, Rick. 

I am so full of life and I’m never going to waste it. I am going to live this life so good. No fear. No regrets. No settling. 

You taught me a lot of lessons in life and in death. I’m grateful for that. I’m happy I’ve had the experiences I’ve had with you and because of you. Good and bad. I really mean that. 

Your life touched mine, Rick. The world may be different because you are no longer in it, but the world will also be different because I was shaped by the experience and now Ido things and will be things I might not otherwise have done/been.

This world will never be as it was when you were here, interacting with people on a daily basis. I know that places will seem emptier, that hearts will seem heavier at times, and that everything has forever changed. But I also know that because of your death, because of how it’s changed me, I will be different. I am different. And because I am different, this world will be different. 

I can search for happiness...or I can choose to create it. This is a choice I get to make every day. I feel lucky that despite the lack of control I’ve had over so many things in my life, I always have this choice. I always have the option to search or to create. And I will always choose to create happiness. 

For me, there is no other way. Rick, you always knew this about me, and I like to think that it was one of the things you loved. 

The choice you made affected me. It's a choice that will always affect me. But I know I can also be happy. The whirlwind of emotions I’ve felt over the last year do not negate my desire to live and breathe and thrive. 

So here we go… My life will go on, and it will be different than I imagined... And I’m okay with that. I’m happy with it, Rick.

Your life made a dent in my life. There’s a groove somewhere in my existence that you made. That’s what I’m saying “thank you” for today. 

Life kept moving, even after you died. And I have to keep living too, Rick. Keep cheering me on.

Love, Arielle

  

Right here, with the sun newly shining above the water, I released Rick's ashes and watched the sea carry him away. This is the spot. 

And though I cried all through my letter, I felt freer with every word. And though I cried releasing Rick into the stone and sea, I felt a release too. And though I cried as I looked out over the water alone, when I turned to leave, it was with a smile. 

Identity

One day, I don't want to be known as the cat widow anymore. I can appreciate that what happened to me has shaped me and given me new perspective. I am glad I ran with it and made a new life for myself. But I don't want my struggle to be my identity. 

And so...one day, I don't want to be the cat widow anymore. 

I think my life is moving in the right direction...and I'm excited.

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.

Restoration

I didn't blog last night, mostly because I didn't feel like it. I'm feeling a change in the air... a good one.

I see multiple doors opening in various areas of my life. I feel transition all around me like a rhythmic  heartbeat.

I have been thinking about the word "healed." Grief can't be cured or fixed or gotten over. But healing does happen.

Healed (verb):
- to restore to health or soundness
- to ease or relieve
- to set right; repair

Everything that's happened in my life has shaped me, chiseled me, and molded me into the Arielle who is lying here in this bed right now. But this woman I am - this woman I've become - isn't new. She is just a better, stronger version of the woman who was always here. Healing happened...internal focus played its part and external factors were at play as well.

I still get sad sometimes. I still find shock and horror in certain aspects of my life. I still can't control the trauma reactions that slip into my subconscious and into my affected world at points. But like the definition above says, I've been restored.

I know everything is all part of a plan. I know my life is on the path that's right. I know fate brings me to the destinations and people and gifts that most benefit me. In those things, I am free of doubt. And when I lie here in the stillness, realizing that I am indeed free of doubt that my life is good and that things happen for meaningful reasons, that inner happiness expands inside of me.

Speechless

I started typing a whole post... but then I just stopped.

I guess I'm feeling a little speechless tonight. It's a good thing.

Lucky Me

It's funny, but I was more emotional today than I was on Rick's birthday. Grief is full of unexpected feelings.

I went to visit my former mother-in-law this morning with a card, flowers, and chocolate. I apologized that her son Rick could not be the one visiting her, that instead she got me. I told her even though Rick was dead, even if I eventually have a new mother-in-law, that she would always be my mother-in-law. I hijacked her box of tissues and wiped at my eyes a lot. We held hands and had a little cry together, but we recovered. 

I told her I love her. She gave me kisses and called me "precious." She tried to wrap her head around the fact that her son will be dead for a year next Monday. 

Today, I also posted on Facebook an old photo of my mom and me, accompanied by these words:

I have grown up always knowing I have the greatest mom as my mom. She has been an amazing example of a working mom (nurse), a caregiver, and a wife. She is also a comedian, a smarty-pants (though she can fool you with her lack of common sense at times), and a wonderful artist. She has always been supportive, non-judgmental, thoughtful, and fun. People would meet my mom and say, "Wow! I love your mom!" or they would hear a story about her and say, "I wish my mom was like that!" BUT during this last year, from May to May, I've never felt LUCKIER to have her as my mom. She held me on the worst day of my life and stayed with me at night in the same bed. She watched her daughter experience pain and tragedy, plan a funeral, and move forward...but she was hurting too. She took care of my cats while I traveled, she helped me do my laundry and clean my house, told me Rick stories, and she helped me navigate life. I love you, mom, and I wouldn't want any other mom but you! Thank you for being the person you always are, which is the person I always need the most! 

After I posted that and my mom read it, she texted me to tell me that the post made her cry, that she loved me, and that Mother's Day was the last time she saw Rick. I hadn't realized that. Rick died exactly 1 week later.

I spent the rest of today with my family - my mom, my dad, both of my grandmothers, my brother, his girlfriend, and my two nieces. I am not a mom, but I have a great one and I know many, many other fantastic ones as well. It's nice to know the world has so many awesome women in it. Today, more than one person told me these words: "Happy Mother's Day. I know you'll be a mom one day." I'm not sure how to feel about that, except to take it as a compliment and move on. I have so much good in my life already, I couldn't possibly ask for anything more. 

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.