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She was brave to give her heart to love again, especially after all the damage it had caused.  -RH Fowler

 

Today would have been our sixteenth anniversary. This is my third without him. Today’s anniversary feels much the same as the last two, but also very different. This was a time of celebration for our family. We used this occasion to celebrate the day we became us. The day we made a vow before god to apply bible principles and work together. Since the bible provides clearly defined roles for each family member, our anniversary was a time to reflect and honor the work each member contributed to our unity. It’s because of this my children have also strongly felt the sting of this day since my first husband’s death two years and five months ago. But this year is different. This year we have the loving support of our Chapter 2, my second husband. This year we discern ways that we can honor our past AND who we are now.

 

Yesterday on our drive home from school and work, my ten-year-old daughter asks me, “Mom, how do you feel?” Not fully understanding what she meant because I like to trick myself into believing that their father’s death is not always on their heart and mind, I respond, “Well my throat hurts because I think I caught your brother’s cold.” “Mom, I mean your emotions. About tomorrow?” “Oh, you mean the anniversary of our family? Well I feel many things. I feel sad, angry, confused, grateful, and hopeful. How about you?” “All of that too but I also feel worried. Worried that tomorrow will be weird for us and hurt Brian’s feelings.” “That, baby girl, is the duality of life post loss. Feeling the happy and the sting of hurt at the same time, while forging ahead on our journey. And I promise that as time moves forward, we will continue to feel these conflicting emotions and develop our new family traditions. We got this! It all takes time. Plus, Brian fully understands the impact of our loss. He couldn’t truly love us if he didn’t recognize all we’ve been through.”

 

This morning I received a text from my uber supportive sister. It read, “Happy anniversary. Do we still say that?” This text signified the immense ripple effect of grief and the confusion it causes, especially when a widow or widower has chosen to move forward in a new marriage. I would be supercilious to think that my feelings and experiences speak for all widows or widowers. However, I can express the importance of not assuming or judging the all encompassing grieving process. I can strongly attest to the precedence of allowing survivors to continue their personal journey, regardless of changes in their life or family structure. I give credit to our fiercely strong support group in our ability to intentionally work through despair. Our village continues to provide needed security, which allows us to be vulnerable enough to grieve, accept ourselves, AND accept another human into our lives, regardless of the chance of losing again.

 

I sign off this post with a purpose. Honoring grief honors the griever. You may not fully understand significant loss or how to support those that do. You also may not conceive how to back those that have made distinguishable changes in their life and/or moved forward post loss. The situation may appear murky to you. Trust me when I say, honor their loss. Respect the work they have done to continue on despite tribulation. Honoring a person’s grief ultimately gives regard for the griever, because grief never goes away.

 

Those afore mentioned words are for my reference rather than an update for you. These words of whit are what I am constantly repeating to myself in hopes of helping me remember the obvious….I’m human. Sounds illogical because it is. My human brain is able to sense, feel, and understand the strengths, weaknesses, abilities, and limitations of others while discounting my own. This has been a huge area in need of improvement in my life pre-loss, but especially after. I’m speaking from my heart when I tell you that it’s extremely difficult AND rewarding to learn and appreciate your lack of control.

There are days when I feel like I have been hit with a double whammy in my pursuit of control. Honestly, maybe even a triple. I have been an obsessive perfectionist since birth. My mother often recounts the stories of my toddler self, crying to be changed because I had food or dirt on me. Don’t even ask my siblings to tell you their stories of torturing me by walking across my freshly vacuumed bedroom carpet. The pursuit of control and perfection is something so deep within me, I hardly recognize myself with out it. My late husband, Cal, used to tell me I was so good at portraying that I had everything under control that others were actually intimidated by me. Well, that’s comforting. With all that said, I’m learning to accept and even respect my limitations.

Here’s the thing with life…sometimes it rips you apart, shatters your pieces, and requires you to piece yourself together, different. It’s impossible to place each little fragment back in the same exact spot. Understanding this takes time and is different for each person, because initially you want everything to remain the same as it was. I remember unintentionally, out of habit, and also very intentionally doing this; because I was afraid I’d forget Cal and us. This was my inner desire for control. If I keep going, and keep things the same, it’s all going to be okay. Seriously? Who was I kidding? How could I ever forget a person my life was built around? On the flipside how could my life be the same without him?   It’s not until you can finally grasp that your life will NEVER be the same again that you can get real in this process. I have been thankful for my children from minute one after his death. They have given me a purpose and a reason to fight through this, while providing many moments of clarity. Helping them work through their grief has often been a figurative slap in the face. For example, when I watched my son watch his first football game without his dad and go through the process just as they did, I had to accept that I have taught them that this was what they should do. It was in this moment that I asked him if he always enjoyed every part of the football routine that he and his dad shared. His response, “I’m not really sure. It’s just what we did.” “Okay, but you know that you now can adjust this process and make it how you want it, right? I don’t want you to stop anything you don’t want to stop, but it’s not healthy to keep everything exactly how your dad would want it, just for him. I mean, it’s not going to bring him back or make you forget everything before.” After we finished our conversation I walked away vowing to apply my own words no matter how impossible it appeared at that time. It was then that I started letting my false sense of control slip. When I started chipping away at this false armor I started to accept that I too am human. Meaning that I’m capable of feeling intense pain, intense happiness, everything in between, having limitations, and even making mistakes. As stated before, I accepted and even appreciated this in others. It’s time I did for myself. This shift is what has helped me compare myself, my family, my grief, and my feelings less.

In this process others that have also experienced loss on a profound level have embraced me. Through these friendships I have been able to have very candid conversations about the reassembly process of life and self. It’s also where I have observed how comparison and the desire to control kicks into overdrive when you feel broken and vulnerable. In these conversations it’s not unlikely to hear, “I can’t do that yet. You’re stronger than I am. I don’t know how you do it. I’m sorry for brining you down today.” Hold up! Since when is grief and life a contest to be the one that experiences the gross most successfully? Or better yet, experience the gross as if it isn’t there? It’s not a contest or comparison….plain and simple. No two people experience or feel life the same way. Not even those in the same family, working through the same things. This is because we’re human rather than machines. There is no set process for anything. Those that tell you there is a set time or cycle to grief have never grieved. Clearly!

The more I have been delivered the figurative slap lately, the more I have realized the importance of accepting my humanness. This means, feeling my emotions…good, bad, and indifferent…giving myself permission to feel and voice powerlessness, and allowing others to see my limitations. Sounds simple, but after years of the exact opposite, it takes an immense focus and clarity. BUT, there are huge benefits. Aside from feeling less stress from trying to control I have experienced truer relationships and people have really learned how to help and support. I have also seen a shift in my own children. For example, I was recently feeling the stress of managing a home, working, parenting, and trying to take care of my own needs. My son just so happened to be alone with me (lucky him….haha) as I was working through an emotional moment. He said, “Mom, you look stressed.” Instead of saying my usual, “I’m okay. I got this.” I actually teared up a bit and said, “I’m completely overwhelmed. I hate that my life has become so hectic. I did not sign up for this. I hate doing this all alone. It’s too much.” After we went our separate ways for a bit we were able to have a real conversation about our emotions. I was expecting him to express how upset he was after our honest conversation, but it was the opposite. My honesty helped him accept his humanness and sometimes, unpleasant emotions. He asked me if I was feeling better and I said that I was. I also expressed that I was sorry he had to start his day off seeing my frustration. To which he said, “I get really frustrated too. Some days I get so mad about how Dad left us. Sometimes I feel like we work so hard because he’s gone. I didn’t know that you felt that too.” Holy moly! My being real has not only helped me, but my children are learning how to better express their feelings and needs, while learning that sometimes our feelings don’t feel so positive and that’s okay. Being able to experience the less welcomed emotions and work through them is how we release that energy. This is vital to moving forward!

Being human means that we experience all our “feels.” The entire spectrum of them. Rather than trying to control or push through, we live in the moment, listen to our bodies, and honor our limitations. As always, I’m a work in progress, but I’m one day closer to being truer to myself. So the next time you see me and ask how we’re doing, you may not hear “Fine.” You’ve been warned.

This post is dedicated to my real friend K.Z. that taught me, “Being honest and real is being kind. To yourself and others.”

This is a yearly tradition that Jadin started when he was three that we have chosen to continue because we LOVE it.  Every year on Halloween we go to this spot and take in the beauty of where we live and reflect on life.  It’s interesting and sometimes heartbreaking to see how these pictures have changed from year to year.

 

 

I rounded the corner to my house, hoping to drop the kids off and shelter them from the situation until I knew the specifics of what was happening. Unfortunately, I was too late. Two police officers were already waiting at the house. I had just gotten a call from my husband’s sister explaining his whereabouts, his plan to end his life, and his last words. I knew that this time he would be successful. I knew that this was really it. All of what she told me matched exactly to our previous conversations about how he would do it. When I say this to people I get the pie eyed look and the question, “You guys talked about his suicide before he did it?” Of course! This also needed an explanation to the officers waiting at my house. When they stated who they were and why they were there they said, “ I’m sure that you are very shocked, but we need to ask you some questions.” I responded with, “I’m shocked that this is happening today, but I am not shocked that it’s happening.” They asked me to elaborate on that so I went on to explain Cal’s ever present and ongoing struggle with mental illness.

This man dealt with depression from the time he was very young. To a few others and myself, Cal opened up about the first time he remembers wondering why he was here and wanting to just disappear or die. He was nine. That’s right, nine. I remember him telling the story and looking around our living room as if he was once again a nine year old, fourth grader, taking in the surroundings of his classroom. From that time his feelings of worthlessness, fear, anxiety, and despair continued to take over his life. I knew of Cal’s struggles with depression and anxiety within a week of dating him. He was very forthright with me and we discussed it openly. Medication was a helpful tool for many years, but as those that struggle know, sometimes a medication will become ineffective. This happened after we had been married for two years. I saw a side to my husband that I had never seen. He completely withdrew, was easily angered, and felt very inadequate. It was during this episode that I heard him utter the words, “Sometimes I feel like I could end it all,” for the first time. I was nursing our baby and I instantly looked down at him and wondered what this could mean for us. He must have sensed my panic because he gave me the signature Cal hand wave and said, “Don’t worry, Babe. I’ll keep living for you and the kids. I was just talking.” Deflection was one of his strong suits. This started another process of seeking new treatments through counseling and medication. Things mellowed for a while, but as mental illness does, each time it reared its ugly head it came back with a vengeance. We attacked each downward spiral with new and more aggressive treatments such as different medications, intense therapy, hormone therapy, amino acid therapy, shock therapy (you read that right), diet and exercise, and inpatient hospitals. We tried everything. Cal hated how he felt and he hated the effect his illness had on his life.

We were his reason. He stated this often and even those that knew him briefly understood this about him. Cal personified the definition of a family man. He was extremely devoted to his family, often trying to find ways to manage his mental illness because he hated how it affected us. He made every decision for us. This may sound like an oxymoron when you consider that he died by suicide. If you have never been touched by depression or mental illness, death in this fashion would appear to be the most selfish act a human can perform. Trust me when I say that until you’ve lived with it yourself or lived with a loved one that does, you will not understand how suicide is perceived as the opposite of that by those that take their lives. The sick brain, along with intense painful emotions, become the master of destroying one’s self worth. On even the good days it was not unusual to hear, “I don’t deserve this.” “I don’t deserve you.” “Why do the kids look at me like I’m their hero?” “You’d be better off with someone else.” It’s as if the brain is completely incapable of seeing yourself of ANY value. The clearest analogy I have used with my children is that of a bully. Understandably, someone that is being bullied will try to avoid the bully and want the bullying to stop. Along with that, the victim can quickly second guess their worth and/or start to fully believe that they are worthless due to the bullying that they endure. Now lets imagine that the said bully is your own ill brain. In this situation the bully is always with you. There is no escaping it. There is also no one to witness the abuse to support you through it. Mental illness makes a person his or her own silent, menacing, and effective bully.

Case in point: A month after being hospitalized for his first suicide attempt, the kids were messing around in the family room, we were all laughing, I was sitting on his lap, and I whispered to him, “Now, aren’t you so glad that you’re still here for this?” When he responded with, “I’m happy for you and the kids,” I knew that it was only a matter of time. It is for this reason that hearing comments about suicide being selfish infuriates me. Most suicide victims are victims to a long struggle with mental illness and/or addiction. Their means to escape constant mental torture is no more selfish than those that end their life while battling a physical illness.  They are both unrelenting and intense pain. I can tell you that after watching the man that I loved, admired, and was closest to suffer for so long, I got to the point that many do when their spouse is in the final days of a life threatening illness. I just wanted his suffering to end. It is completely unjust to have to watch a person you would give your own life for suffer; knowing that treatments can bring only slight and temporary relief. This is one of life’s biggest conundrums. I wanted relief for him, but I never wanted to say goodbye.

He wanted relief for everyone. His mind tricked him into believing that this was the way to ensure that. His mind could not let him see the emptiness, the loneliness, and the huge hole that was left in his absence. He couldn’t see the missed welcome home hugs after a long day, the “Daddy hurry home,” when he was traveling for work, the “I wish Dad was here so I could ask him about this,” and all the times we say, “If Dad were here; this would be perfect.” He couldn’t see me reaching for him next to me in bed those first few weeks, my struggle to make decisions because he was my sounding board and I was shaken to the core, my emptiness and numbness that frightened friends and family, the constant reminders of him, and he definitely didn’t see any of us holding on to his shell at his viewing; begging for just a little longer. Tragic! So, the next time you hear someone talk about the selfishness of suicide or start to walk down that path yourself (because let’s face it, even I have my moments) remind yourself that this was a person dealing with intense pain and torment. This was a human that as an effect of their illness thought so little of themselves, they wholeheartedly believed the tragedy of their loss was an easier burden to bear than their presence. Ultimately they saw it as a way out for everyone. In reality, they are victims of suicide and mental illness rather than perpetrators of a selfish crime. If you must loathe or blame something; blame mental illness and it’s devastating effects.

This post is dedicated to our village.  Thank you so much for all of the love and support you have shown regardless of your understanding of our loss.  Our journey would not have been the same with out you. 

“Man, people must really love us, Mom.”-Ardin

  

 

 

 

Living big is the essence of my life. Since birth, I have been the type to live big. One of those kids that every parent loves until they become an unharnessed and confused teenager. The person that doesn’t shy away from a challenge, is always trying to soak up every second of an experience, and to my mother’s dismay lacking a fear of much of anything. Big living individuals love life, experiences, and people. Contrary to what some believe, living big is not throwing all caution to the wind and trying to appease your every whim at a given moment. Living big means you are living in the moment rather than escaping it and staying true to you. True to the principles and intentions that drive you. True to the things that make you who you are. To truly live big you have to live life on life’s terms and learn to find the good.

Sounds easy enough, right? It also sounds appealing enough. Honestly, who doesn’t want to enjoy life? I have seen some miserable people, but not a one of them has wanted to feel misery. So, why are we all not trying to fully experience life? It’s because while life is beautiful, wonderful, thrilling and exciting; it’s also gross and miserable. Let’s be real, everyday cannot be rainbows and unicorns. That is simply not life. Some days you want to throw in the towel and give up. Some days you want to employ wreck less abandon to escape a situation, but you can’t. You just can’t. Life isn’t a relationship you can decide to walk away from because it’s becoming strained. It’s not a job you can leave because it takes too much from you. It’s not a neighborhood you move out of because the view no longer suits your taste. As long as you are a living, breathing human, life will be there. Full of all of it’s harsh lessons and realities. Each individual’s view of the irony, and sometimes cruelty of life, is what distinguishes a person that intends to live big from one that simply lives. It is a life purpose. A way YOU decide to live and think each and every day. I will be absolutely honest when I tell you that this won’t be done perfectly. We do, however, improve as we experience more of our journey.   The more we focus on the good and our passions, the more we will find them in life.

I’m writing this on the first day of a new year as I reflect back on the perplexity of life and another year. This is the truth, if you ask me about 2015 I will tell you that it’s a year I detest. If I could punch 2015 in the face I would….more than once. This year taught me more about myself than ever. This year I have experienced life on a deeper level. Looking back on it makes me anticipate times when I don’t have to dig through so much muck to find the good. While 2015 was clearly not my favorite; I want to say that I have had some of my best times in 2015 too. This year I took more trips, I watched my children experience life to the full, I laughed so hard my abs hurt for days, I enjoyed recreational activities with my friends and family, and this may come as a shocker to you all, had the best trip with my husband ALONE that we had our entire 16 years together. It’s true. He planned out every detail of a second honeymoon as a surprise. And when I say every detail, I mean down to childcare and everything. I just had to pack my bag and get in the truck at the departure time. If you know me, that in itself is a process. This was our anniversary trip in January and just days before he died in July he was telling a friend, “I loved that trip with Autumn. That was our best trip ever. I want to do that trip again everyday.” See, I can’t write 2015 off as all bad. I can say that it has been a year that I experienced life and loss on a profound level. It got real in 2015. In the realness I have discovered more of what fuels me, and my big living intentions. I fully comprehend how short and unpredictable life is. I know what I value and want to surround myself with. My friendships and family relationships are deeper and stronger. I’m better able to weed out the unimportant things and people from my life. Plus, we as a family are learning how resilient we really are. Through all of the sadness and pain I am thankful that my children are learning the value of life and to appreciate it at a young age. I can’t even image how much intentional, big living they will do after learning these lessons so young. This thought gives me goose bumps.

So here is my challenge for all of us. As you contemplate the happenings in 2015, look for the good. Look for the big laughs, the hard cries, and everything in between. Look for the lessons that you’ve learned and the discoveries you’ve made about yourself. And for crying out loud, apply what you’ve learned. Live in the moment and let the small stuff go. Tell the ones you love that you love them. Do at least one thing you’ve always wanted to do. Set goals. Surround yourself with people that you can laugh and cry with. Make the changes that need to be made and appreciate how far you’ve come. Fully experience your life because who knows what tomorrow or even the next minute will bring. Shine on you supernovas. Shine on. 2016….we got this!

This post is dedicated to my big living son and Uncle Rick.  Clearly they get living big.  “We could get nuked any day!”  “If I’m going to get nuked, I want to get nuked with you.”

 

Just a few of my big moments of 2015

Ask those that have suffered loss and they will tell you about a period of grief commonly known as “The Fog.” This mental and emotional fog, or numbness, is immense and unavoidable. It sucks you in like a black hole. While it can feel debilitating and frustrating, I’m now grateful for it’s coping effect. Before I go further, let me pause to take a moment and reflect on the amazing way our bodies were designed. We are equipped with instinctual coping mechanisms that step in without us even knowing that’s what we need. This lack of precise clarity is the only way I would have been able to make it through the first days, weeks, and months after my husband’s suicide. When the pain and shock of loss was so profound, my body was able to shut down its ability to process and remember every detail, emotion, and moment. Somehow your brain just functions on autopilot.

 

I remember when I got the call that something was awry. I remember that it took five hours of waiting at my house with my closest family and two police officers for the official confirmation. I remember the knock on my door and seeing a familiar officer’s face. I remember how I knew as soon as I saw his face that he was delivering the shattering news. Honestly, after that, I don’t remember much. I remember preparing myself and the words I would use to tell my three children that the man they loved, cherished, and idolized was gone….forever. I will tell you that I recall very little of this actual conversation, but they have filled in many of the holes while talking through their own grief. I vaguely remember going to the Sheriff’s department to claim his belongings, making multiple trips to the funeral home, writing his obituary, making funeral plans, making some of the hardest phone calls I hope to ever make, and even the funeral or viewing. I say vaguely because while I know that I did these things I can tell you only small snippets about these moments. These were the tasks that needed to be done. The things you forge through when you want to crumble. Had my pain and shock been so tangible, I would not have been able to effectively push through for my babies or myself. For this, I say thank you.

 

As clearly as I can tell you about this almost lucid state that a grieving person functions in, I can tell you about the day I woke up and it was gone. I was encouraged that this would happen when I was dealing with the frustration of my inability to remember what I once could. For a perfectionist, like myself, my inability to focus and remember was a vexation. It was another thing that had been robbed from me. My Aunt, who had also suffered the loss of her husband at a young age, recounted her experience of  coming out of the fog to me. She described how she clearly remembered when it happened to her and reassured me that my time was coming. This was something I waited for with eager anticipation. I went on job interviews, prepared my kids for the start of a new school year, took my kids to their first days of school, and even taught my first days of school while in this fog. I was frustrated that I couldn’t and still can’t recall the details of these events. As thrilled as I was for this, I was not at all prepared for what actually happened when the haze disappeared. Yes, an acute clarity returned, but so did the realization that this was final and I have choices to make. This was a fairly recent happening. It was about 16 weeks out. I was simply getting ready for work when it hit me. Hard! I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “This is real. He’s never coming back. You better figure out how you want the rest of your life to go.” With this realization came an intense mixture of emotions: despair, loneliness, frustration, fear, confusion, empowerment, and hope. You read those last two correct. It’s extremely empowering to know that you have somehow managed this far and you have the ability to reshape your life in so many ways. I was embarrassed to admit that this new self-discovery elicited a hope within me. I spoke to very few people about this and the ones I did, I toned down the positive aspects of my new outlook.

 

It was in the days following this clearing that I started to realize that I had experienced a love that some people never do. Some people search their whole lives for what we shared. While we weren’t perfect, we NEVER gave up on each other. We grew up together. We saw each other through the erratic times of youth. We came to truly know and appreciate each other. We made each other better people. For us, this was a huge amount of growth. Notice I keep repeating we. It was when I could think clearly, rather than merely muddle through, I could see that this was a mutual process. I had attained these skills. I had offered my own abilities and assets to this relationship. I was not left with nothing. I am still me and I am now able to focus on the things I love about life. This is my time to make decisions for myself. Not because I have to, but because I can. This is also my time to be grateful for my experiences, my marriage, and the lessons I have learned through life. While my marriage with Cal does not carry on physically, his impact and what we shared will be with me the rest of my life. It is because of this love that I am a more compassionate, understanding, and purposeful person. I have a deeper appreciation for life. I am a changed person, but a better person thanks to Cal. I trust that while my life will be different and I will never be the same, I will be okay. I will actually be better than okay. I will have a greater awareness of what is truly important to me. I already sweat so much less of the small stuff. Cal will be with our children and me every day. It will be evident in the profound way we continue on in his absence. Together, we got this!

 

Thankfully these pictures were taken by a sweet friend that stopped by to offer support.  Had this moment not been captured, I would have forgotten it happened.  It’s innocence and beauty would have been forever lost.  This was just three days after the death of my husband and my daughter was upset that she could no longer play outside because of the rain.  This was my opportunity to show her that while life doesn’t always go as planned, we can make it something great.