Missing my love at Easter

This is our second Easter without Jared.  And I miss him terribly.  Easter has always been a family time.  A day for rejoicing, for celebrating.  A faithful day filled with family and friends.   Last year we did just that, celebrated with family and friends.  But this year we decided to celebrate differently.

This year my son and I are celebrating Easter in Breckenridge.  This is the first time we have been skiing and snowboarding since Jared died.  Another first.  I didn't expect the emotional trigger that seeing the snow would bring.  I was immediately sent back to our first Easter skiing when Steven was only 18 months old.  And our last time hitting the slopes in Lake Tahoe for what would be our last Thanksgiving.

As I watched my little man snowboard today, I could feel Jared watching him too.  I was so overcome with emotion and tears ran down my cheeks before I could even think to stop them.

My friend recently told me that Easter is a perfect day for widows,  a season of death and rebirth.  A part of me died when Jared was called home.  Maybe this Easter is the time for my rebirth.  To discover who I am now.

Feeling Jared on the ski slope today, reminded me that no matter where we travel for Easter or how we celebrate this holy season, he will always be with us.  Easter will always be our family time.

Moving forward

It's been 18 months and there are some who are ready for me to be over my grief.

Those who say it's been 18 months, aren't you over it yet?

Those who say it's been 18 months, you need to be dating.

Those who say it's been 18 months, it's time to move on.

To them I say, it's my grief and I get to grieve my way.

I will never get over Jared's death. Never. Jared is an intrical part of my life. And his death changed me forever. The love that we share, will always be with me.  I will grieve and mourn Jared the rest of my life.  But that doesn't mean I will stop living.  I will take life by the horns and make the most of every second because my husband doesn't have that chance. I will LIVE each day to the fullest, but I will never get over Jared's death.

I am not ready to date yet. When Jared died I said never would I date again. 18 months later I realize I may want to date again and not be alone forever but that day is not today.  Someday my heart may expand and allow me to care for another person. But there will always be a piece of my heart that belongs to Jared. A piece specifically reserved for him. And it will take a special man to understand that.   A special man to understand that even though my husband is dead, I will always love him. And I am not ready to meet that man yet. I will know if and when I am ready to date. No one else gets to make that choice for me. And today is not that day.

I will never move on. I will move forward. I realize for some, that is just semantics. But for me, moving on implies that I leave Jared behind. And that is something I cannot do. Moving forward means that he will come with me. That he will always be a part of my life. My relationship with Jared shaped who I am today.  A wife, a lover, a best friend, a caregiver, and a mother.  All because of Jared.  I will always be his widow and that fact will help shape my future.  My love and life with Jared will be woven into the next volumes of my life.  How can they not be?  And because Jared will always be with me, I will do my best to move forward.  To honor the love we shared.  To honor him by living.  Live a full, wonderful life.  Treasure every second.  Take every opportunity to love.  Say yes to new adventures.  I will move forward.  But I will never move on.

Yes, it has been 18 months and I am not over it, I am not ready to date, and I will never move on.

Yes, it has been 18 months and I am trying to live, trying to laugh, trying to discover who I am now.  These things take time.  Take work.  But I am trying.  I am trying to learn to live with the death of my husband.  Who knows what my future holds?  Right now all I can do is try and find out.

But whose counting

Today marks 18 months since God called you home.
18 months since your death changed everything I thought I knew.
18 months since our family felt complete.

18 months...but whose counting?

548 days since I heard your heart beat.
548 days since we held pinkies.
548 days since we last kissed goodnight.

548 days...but whose counting?

18 months since my world changed in the blink of an eye.
18 months since Steven said "daddy can breathe in heaven."
18 months since I promised you I would live.

18 months...but whose counting?

548 days since I didn't have to wake up each day and face my grief.
548 days since you were here to help Steven with his homework.
548 days since I last came home to you.

548 days...but whose counting?

18 months since life became before and after.
548 days since I became your widow.

18 months, 548 days...but whose counting?


I am.  I am counting.

I am afraid if I stop counting, you'll be forgotten.
I am afraid if I stop counting, I'll lose myself.
I am afraid if I stop counting, I will never heal.

I am.  I am counting.

18 months, 548 days and yes I am counting.

Counting the days until I find my new purpose.
Counting the days until I feel joy again.
Counting the days until life is in balance.

18 months, 548 days. And I'm still counting.

I will love you forever Jared and I miss you more than I ever imagined possible.
I feel lost without you and yet I am trying to honor my promise.
I have learned that you will never leave me, you will always live in my heart.

18 months. 548 days.  Counting the days I have survived.

Courage

Some days I feel like pulling the blanket over my head and staying in bed.

I feel like hiding from the world, from my grief.

But then I remember that I have to get up and face the world, face my grief.

I have to gather all my courage and face my reality.

Today I was courageous.  And so were you!

Together we can survive.

Little boy

Tonight I was trying to set up a treadmill with Steven's help.  I kept getting frustrated thinking he should be able to help me more.  There is no man of the house, it is just the two of us.  When he said "can I take a shower so I can watch TV before bed?". I almost lost my shit.  I thought seriously after all we have been through and I all I do for you, your 11 year old self can't help me move a treadmill?

Then I remembered he is just a little boy.  A little boy who has been forced to grow up quickly.  A little boy who all to well understands what it means to not have a dad at home to help move furniture. And I felt guilty.  Guilty for expecting him to think like an adult.  Guilty for expecting him to to act like adult.  Guilty for putting my expectations on a 11 year old boy.  Could he help me? Yes.  Should it be his responsibility? No. We did move the treadmill but I know he was upset that he didn't "do it right.". Feelings I never wanted my child to experience.

I hugged him. I thanked him. I told him how grateful I am to have him.  I apologized for being short tempered.  But all of this can't erase the hurt.  My expectations were to high and I hurt my child because if it.  All the I love yous and I'm sorries in the world can't make up for that.  He said he has wanted to cry more times because I am upset with him than because his dad.  Ouch.  That hurts.  My husband was no saint.  He was impatient and short tempered, but Steven doesn't remember that.  He remembers a dad who loved him.  And I will never do anything to tarnish that memory.  But how can I compete with a dead man on a pedestal?

He is just a little boy who is being expected to grow up to fast. And I feel terrible.  I love him more than life and tonight I hurt him. There is no way to make up for that.  But at that same time, it is my job to raise him to be responsible and productive.  This solo parenting is not easy.  There is no rule book.  It is the most difficult job I have ever had. And it is just beginning.