"It's all wrong and we shouldn't even be here."

Because we were huge Lord of the Rings fans, I'll start with Samwise:

"It's all wrong and we shouldn't even be here."
This wasn't supposed to happen so soon, and when it did it was supposed to be me who left you - in our 80s ish- not you leaving me
when we should have had 25 more years together.

"We didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy?"
I grew up a romantic believing in fairy tales,
and we were lucky enough to have had one -
as people are so apt to remind me, damn them.
But nobody ever tells us what happens AFTER
Happily Ever After.
I mean, somebody has to die, right?

39 months in I'm just an empty vessel that eats and sleeps and distracts by wasting precious time that's no longer precious.
It once overflowed with love and life and dreams.
A love and life I took for granted
Until it was all snatched away in 6 short weeks
as if I'd done something so terribly wrong
that I am now forced to endure a life sentence
of solitary confinement
In my new house
with my new furniture
that was supposed to give me a new start. But didn't.

There's no trace of you anywhere, except
a few of your shirts that have lost your scent,
a taped up box of our lifetime in photos
and my fading memories...
... of the mundane Costco trips -
You speeding home while I hold your ice cream bars before they melt so they can go in the freezer for you to enjoy later.
You were always so good at delaying gratification -
not like me who wanted dessert first.
... The comforting sound of football coming from the other room
that now blasts me back to before when I hear it in a bar.

And then are the memories of all our special places,
year after year, all running together now
like a box of melting chocolates in the sun.
Vegas, Hawaii, Carlsbad in summers.
Along with you, I lost those places too.

All I have left are our two old cats you rescued
despite my pleas to the contrary.
Thank God you did that.
We miss you John.

We spend long, lonely weekends alone now,
and endless nights alone too.
The day you were diagnosed, the first thing you said to me was:
"You're going to be alone."
And you were right.

Once we lost your parents,
we were each other's only family,
and we were all we ever needed.
We didn't care about the outside world
because we lived and loved in our own little bubble.
We were enough. We lived for each other.
Everything was we,
it was never me.
and I don't know me without you.

A friend said today that you isolated me
because of your sobriety.
It's true, but I forgive you.
And I wouldn't trade what we had
for a better life now
(although it would've been nice to have had both).

I no longer believe in fairy tales -
Except for the one where we will be reunited someday
to spend eternity together.
I exist for that story now.

Today is John's Birthday

This day, January 14th, will always be John's birthday. I will henceforth tick off each year as one more that he should have been here - with us. With me. He would have been 61 today. The day he was diagnosed, he said, "I'm not even going to make 60." He was right.

On his last Earth birthday two years ago I made him dark chocolate brownies from scratch, which we both devoured.

In my "Writing in Grief" course, we were prompted to write "What I Remember," and/or "What I Need to Forget" about our loved ones. This is what I wrote, which is so apropos for this day:

I Want to Remember…

The magical day we met at a pool in Palm Springs after my fortuitous u-turn.

How handsome he looked on our first date, and how I knew I was in trouble after he kissed me goodnight.

His beautiful smoky blue eyes and those long, sooty eyelashes I always envied.

How he still took my breath away, even after 35 years.

The aristocratic tilt of his nose.

How cute he looked in his wetsuit with his board.

How effortless it always was.

His pirate smile that lit up my life.

His gentleness, generosity and humility.

How dependable he was, and how he cared about others.

His wicked sense of humor.

How we'd pick up the phone to call each other at the exact same time.

How we'd miss each other after even a day apart.

How we loved and hated the same foods,

and how we made a sport out of guessing what kind of food each other was craving.

It was always the same food, we never guessed wrong.

How we finished each others' sentences.

How nobody knew either of us as well as we knew each other.

How devoted we were.

How he tenderly loved our cats and how we'd weep together when it was time to say goodbye to them.

How he gave me everything and more.

How our frequent "escapes" kept us childlike.

The way he turned his life around when he finally got sober 22 years ago, and how he inspired others.

I also want to remember and understand why I had a premonition something horrible was coming a year and a half before anything was overtly wrong. 

When I would tell him he'd say I was just being paranoid.

I want to remember and understand why I felt compelled to have more girlfriends when he appeared perfectly fine.

And then I dreamed he died.

I remember waking up in tears and meeting him in the hallway. He was holding his teacup and grinning, and when I told him my dream, he just hugged me and said, "I'm fine!"

I want to understand how my subconscious knew when my conscious mind was oblivious, and so was he, thinking his pain was muscular exertion. How did I know and not know?

And I want to remember how, right after he was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer, the first thing I said to him was "Oh my God, our life is over." And it was.

And the first thing he said as he held me was, "You're going to be alone."

I want to remember how we couldn't let go of each other.

And then he said something remarkable: "As bad as this is, on some level I believe I'm right where I am supposed to be."

I want to remember these things because that was the last narcotic-free, rational conversation we had. As tragic as the news was, I treasure those last moments together on the last day he had a "Before."

I need to forget how two weeks later I was buying him a walker.

I need to forget the next month-long roller coaster ride to hell.

I want to believe he is in heaven surfing and eating chocolate cake, waiting patiently

for me.

About Me

About Me

My husband John and I had just celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary in Hawaii, but we had actually been together 35 years - when on July 15, 2013, our lives were changed forever. My handsome, successful, charming, athletic 59 year old husband was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and only lived for six weeks. 

I was left (almost) completely alone except for a few girlfriends. We had no children, and I had no living family whatsoever. John was my only family and my whole life. We were pretty much inseparable.  I hadn't worked in many years because he was semi-retired and we traveled often. We were still in love and enjoyed a Fairy Tale kind of life. 

Once John was gone, I didn't have the distractions of a career, family or even a  hobby, so I was forced to bear the full onslaught of shock, intense sorrow and extreme aloneness in a big empty house.

I had once worked as a journalist, but for the first 16 months I was so devastated and confused that I didn't feel like writing. After taking an online grief writing workshop I became inspired to write again and this blog will document my journey through grief. When I say "through," I don't expect there will ever be an end to the long, dark tunnel of grief. But I do believe that with time and work it can become a little easier to bear. I can hope for some illumination and joy along the way. Yet I will not be painting any rosy pictures of "recovery" from grief. My words will be like my feelings - intense and raw. Although we all experience grief differently, I do believe that the deeper the love, the more intense is the grief.

As widowed people, we know our society doesn't want to hear or see our grief - it makes people very uncomfortable. Yet we need to allow ourselves to feel and express it because if we suppress it, we can literally make ourselves ill. To me, my grief is like the fire inside a volcano. If it can't vent, then it either implodes or explodes - neither of which is healthy.

If you are grieving, I'm so sorry you are here, but you are not alone. Perhaps you will be inspired to write about your own grief journey. Thank you for visiting my blog. 

Diane

What the World Sees of You in Me

What the World Doesn't See of You in Me

This began as an online writing class I took called Writing in Grief. Each day for 30 days, we were given a prompt to write from.

The words are raw and full of pain, but they are honest. Our society expects grievers to hide their pain. Unfortunately, having to cover up only makes us feel worse - as if we have some horrible contagious disease, instead of a normal reaction to the loss of a beloved. With loss, the deeper the love, the deeper and longer lasting is the grief.

I'll begin this with yesterday's prompt which was, "How does the world see the shape of you (John) in me?" It's a letter to my husband.

My Dear John,

The world can't see the shape of you in me. 
This is because you were an accomplished, joyful, active person.
You knew how to take such great care of others
because you loved and took such good care of yourself.
I know you are disappointed in me, and I'm so sorry,
I'm  doing the best I can, but 
I am devastated.

I know you had higher expectations of me.
I can't make decisions.
I change my mind every five minutes.
I'm so confused.
I can't remember anything.
I don't know how to fill the time.
I am a zombie.

The truth is I feel like I am nothing without you.
I have become invisible and irrelevant.
I am like a broken shell on the beach 
The safe creature that dwelled there is long gone now.
Only echoes of the past remain in the broken shell.
I've lost any motivation to do anything.

I guess it was a mistake to make you my everything for 35 years
and not create much of a life of my own (like all my friends have).
I gave up so much to have the Fairy Tale with you.
And you never wanted me to, but I did, slowly as the years passed.
I never intended for it, but we ended up in an old-fashioned relationship. 
So very unfashionable.

None of the fairy tales tell what happens to the Princess
when Prince Charming dies.
I know you completed me.
But I'm starting to wonder if you made me instead.

I didn't work so we could travel.
I didn't have hobbies. You were my hobby.
The truth is I only really wanted to be with you, 
and you with me. 
I know my friends think it was kind of sick.
But I think we were lucky. How many people have that? 
I told a friend if I had to do it over, I'd do everything the same.
She looked at me like I was nuts.
Maybe I am.

Our coupleness was a bright star in the sky.
And when you lost your light, I lost mine.
And I can't get it back.
I don't know who I am or what to do without you.
I don't even know where to live.

Some part of me wants to go somewhere new
and start over, knowing absolutely no one.
Be alone in my sorrow in some lovely place
Where no one will feel obligated to like me,
unless they want to and not because they have to.
Maybe then I could make a few new friends
who will like me for the person I am now,
and not the person I was Before.

I want to honor your amazing life somehow.
But first I have to figure out how to honor myself.
I know that's all you would ever ask of me.
But it's a lot.

All my love forever,

Diane