Month: September 2014

20Sep

Beyond my Last Starry Night

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I wrote “My last Starry Night” in December of 2010.  Michael had been gone for 18 months.  Since that writing, I have probably read that story a few dozen times. Not because in any way is it literary genius, but because sometimes I need to take myself back, just to see how far I have come.

As I promised on the fifth anniversary of Michael’s death, I would write the story of hope, of happiness, and achievement that I have experienced since that horrible night in May of 2009.  Perhaps the best way to share my growth, is to share with you excerpts of some of my journal entries early on in my grief.

September 23, 2009

Grief follows me like a shadow, sorrow a constant companion. 

Dear Michael,

You took your life 4 months and 2 days ago. Today someone spoke to me of guns, in an almost romantic way – the kick of one, the feel of another. I could’ve left and not looked back. But I stayed and asked the polite questions as to not make them feel uncomfortable. What a joke. Is that how it should be? Is it so easy for people to forget that my husband shot himself in the heart just a few short months ago? 

December 24, 2010

As this day comes to a close, and as this year comes to an end, I am so sadly consumed by the loss of my love. I so wish that I could move on, that this still was not the focus of my soul. As in the dimming of the day, as in the waking of the night, as in the breaking of the dawn, I need him, I miss him, I yearn for him. Life will never be the same without him. I’m just not sure what to do, and yet, as I do nothing, life continues.

I am so scared that I have stopped growing, that my life has ceased to have meaning. He, Michael, was my center. My world spun on the axis of his love, his caring, his being. That inertia balanced everything else in my life. Without him my world has spun out of control. I am trying desperately to gain that control back, to center myself back into existence. Dear God, please help me with this.

**Side note** I don’t want to leave the impression that I didn’t have good days during this time in my life, I did.  I had good, hearty, fulfilling moments. As most of us, I chronicle my life on Facebook. I look back on those days and I am reminded that although it was a very tough time in my life, I also see the many smiles, laughs, and tender moments I experienced. **

January 10, 2011

As predicted, around 2am, snow starting falling in East Tennessee. I was awakened with a phone call at 5:30 am that work would be closed today. Rather than rolling over and going back to sleep, I got out of bed, bundled up, and went outside to see the snow. My God, it was so beautiful, so peaceful. There is a certain quiet that a blanket of snow brings. As my lungs were filled with the cold, crisp air, I felt a sense of joy. It was the joy of the moment, the joy of witnessing the sight of predawn beauty; the joy of being the sole witness to the splendor before me. Thank you God for this early morning blessing.

It is now early afternoon and I have decided to restart the book The Year of Magical Thinking. It is a recount of Joan Didion’s experience after the sudden death of her husband. I had started reading this book previously and had to put it down; not for the lack of interest, but for the pain and grief it stirred up in me. Yet, I have decided to pick it up again, and dive back into her reality and mine. Her words resonate throughout me, “Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.”  Maybe I think that by reading it, somehow, it might speed up or even cure this grief that inhabits me. 

** Side Note **The reading of that book was the beginning of my understanding of grief, of coming to terms with the loss. It was my first encounter with the writings of a widow, of her pain, her loss, and knowing that what I was feeling was not only normal, but part of the cycle of healing.**

Monday, February 21, 2011

Somewhere, Somehow, Sometime in the last few weeks I feel that I have made the transformation from “victim” to “survivor”, Thank you God.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Louise and I registered for an art session at Spirited Art. I am so excited to be doing something so out of my box! I want my life enriched with new experiences, new challenges, and new sights. 

**Side note**  I remember exactly where I was when I wrote that last entry. I remember the feeling of optimism, the assurance that the worst was behind me. Of course, as in any journey from grief, I had setbacks, but I felt like I had reached a turning point here. **

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

For some time now I have battled with a late night conundrum. What is it that prevents me from going to sleep at a reasonable time in order to feel refreshed and rested the next day? There’s a battle within me that keeps me up night after night… with nothing but a vague anticipation of… I don’t know, a lack of completion… something not finished. And last night, as I finally turned off the television and looked at the clock, I realized it was 11:30. Our last night together, Michael came to bed at 11:30. That realization made me gasp for breath, as the tears welled up in my eyes. Oh my God, these last two years, I have been waiting for Michael to come join me in bed… as it should be…as it was for so many years. 

Present day:

I’m not sure why, but I didn’t journal much after that. Maybe it was because I started living more in the present and less in the past. Also, often journaling would conjure up the reality of my husband’s death and that would mentally put me in a bad state of mind.

It’s been five years since my husband took his life. Rarely do I torture myself looking for answers that can’t be found.  I no longer live in the past. This road, this journey  has been long, it’s been rocky, I have traveled into unchartered territory. There was a time in this process that grief would so consume me that I would crawl under my bed and sob into the carpet (hoping that the sounds would be muffled).

There are no magic words to make it better.  As stated in the book Second Firsts by Christina Rasmussen, “The identity that’s created while grieving is based upon pain, fear, guilt, anger, sadness, and a broken heart. There is a different identity waiting to be revealed. A real evolution takes place in the  brain during the days, months, or years following a loss – and it holds exciting possibilities.” She makes the point that “Time doesn’t heal, action does.”

So where am I today? I’m in a good place. I’m in a state of peace, of joy, of gratitude. I decided early on that I would choose happiness. I felt so strongly about it that the word is in a prominent place in my home.

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I stayed determined that the death of my husband would not define me forever. I held fast to the belief that I was stronger than my situation. And what have I achieved? Well, first, confidence. A higher belief in myself that I am far stronger than I ever imagined myself to be. And secondly, confidence in the relationships that have gotten me through these many hurdles. My children, Heather, Robin, Shane, and Brandon. My beloved sister Terri that stayed by my side for an entire year after Michael’s death. Sadly some of my friends that were thrown into this journey with me have gone to the wayside, but in the meantime I have been blessed with new friendships.

It took me four years to financially get back on my feet. The death of my husband forced me into bankruptcy and the loss of my home. It’s a humbling experience to see that the home you worked so hard for being sold to the highest bidder on the front steps of the courthouse. Although blessed to have roommates to share the everyday expenses, I praise God that I am finally able to live on my own again. I rally in my independence and rejoice in having my own place again.

The last paragraph in “My Last Starry Night”:

My prayer is that someday I will find my way through this labyrinth of grief, of loneliness, and heartbreak. At times I feel like great strides have been made, only to run into a wall in this maze I am trapped in, but I have faith that I will get through this. I may not come out the same person that went in, but maybe a better person. One that will never take for granted the warmth of family, the gift of life, the treasure of laughter, and the smile of a child. And maybe, someday, God willing, the love for another man.

Present day:

All of those prayers have been answered. Well, except for the part about the love for another man. I’m just not there yet, nor will I possibly ever be. But that’s fine, because it is well, it is well with my soul.

Blessings,

Cat

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

09Sep

Dancing in the Kitchen

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I found myself alone on Christmas Day in 1994.  As planned, my children spent Christmas morning with me, and went on to spend the rest of the holiday with their respective fathers. After they left that morning I busied myself with the task of cleaning up the crumpled wrapping paper, used bows, and empty boxes. I tried to make myself believe that it was going to be just like any other day that I would be without my children.  I thought that I had mentally prepared myself for this time alone, empty moments like this are going to happen when there is shared custody. But clearly, after the house was restored to its normal order I found myself not only alone, but lonely on Christmas Day.

After several hours of wallowing in self pity, I picked up the phone and called my brother. He, his wife, and son lived a short distance from me. I wrangled an invitation to their home.

Within minutes I drove up and parked at the curb in front of their home. It was almost dusk, that time of day when the sky begins to give way to dark, but holds on to the light as long as it can. I had the vantage point of seeing inside of my brother’s kitchen. The lights were on, the blinds not yet drawn on the sliding glass door. What I witnessed deeply touched my heart.

It was my brother John, slow dancing with his wife Sheri. Nothing fancy, no dips, no twirls, just a slow melodic dance of a couple in love. It was tender, and admittedly a side of my brother I had never seen before. As I soaked in the scene of that Christmas night dance, I thought to myself, “I want that. I want to experience that with someone.” I sat in my car for a few minutes after witnessing that simple, unpretentious dance with a yearning that I don’t recall ever feeling before. I waited for the dance to end and made my way up to the front door. Not wanting to embarrass my brother, I never admitted to the tender moment I had witnessed from my car.

I went home that night to an empty house  and thought about that dance between my brother and his wife. At that point in my life, there wasn’t a lasting relationship on the foreseeable horizon for me. So I got to thinking, which is something I do a lot. I’m a thinker. I ponder things.  I thought, “Why wait on that special man to dance with? Dance with those who are in your life – right now. Your children, and yes, you have permission to dance with just yourself.”  So that’s what I starting doing.  Heather, Robin, and Shane became my dance partners. We would crank up our “boom box” and dance until we were out of breath. Right there in our own little kitchen we mustered up some really great memories. Dancing, twirling, arms waving, singing along to the music.

*** click on music link below** you made need to adjust the volume, it’s pretty loud**

And then I began a ritual only for myself.

From my kitchen window I was able to see the moon on clear nights. I’ve always been drawn to full moons, but who isn’t? On those nights, after my children were tucked into bed, I would turn off the lights, insert a CD (much like this Enya song),  and sway to the rhythm of the music. With only moonbeams shining in from the window illuminating my presence, I would dance.  It was my own kind of interpretive dance that would not have made any sense to anyone but me. It brought me peace and a thankfulness for my solitude. I began reconnecting with myself, I embraced a new found independence. During these seemingly indulgent sessions I felt empowered to tackle the unknown.

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I made jokes to my friends that on some of those nights when the children were away, I would dance naked while  paying homage to  the heavenly bodies. In truth, I did dance naked on some of those nights. I can’t recall a time in my life when I ever felt so free, so alive.

“Every single month, there is one special evening that I keep free--no dates, no dinners out and no distractions.” For more: Full Moon Manifestation Ritual on elephantjournal.com, by Rosalie e’Silva. #mayitbeofbenefit #fullmoon #fullmooninleo

**I want to interject here and say that not every day was a great day. Not every day was a dance in the kitchen day. There were hard days. There were long days. Single parenthood. Money issues. Full time job. Exhaustion. Days when I felt like I had nothing to give to anyone. There were stressful days. There were days when all I wanted to do was to be by myself and hide under the covers **

You can continue listening to this song, and maybe get a glimpse into those special evenings of mine, imagining an almost 40 year old woman dancing (sometimes naked) to the music that lifted my spirits, soared me to a new platform in my life…. or you can hit pause and keep on reading. 🙂

Some years later I would marry the man of my dreams. I recounted to him the story of that Christmas Night dance at my brother’s house and how it had touched me.

**click on music link below **  the volume needs adjusted here too – I’m still new at this***

He and I shared many slow dances in our own kitchen, swaying to the music of Sade, Savage Garden, Celine Dion, Trisha Yearwood, or sometimes to no music at all. Out of nowhere (and for no special reason) Michael  would put one arm around my waist, pull me close, and would whisper in my ear, “Can you hear it? It’s our song.” without any music playing in the background. He would hum “Truly, Madly, Deeply” into my ear.

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Michael couldn’t sing or hum worth a damn, but the sentiment would melt my heart every time. I hear this song and it takes me back to those days. “I want to stand with you on a mountain, I want to bathe with you in the sea, I want to lay like this forever, until the sky falls down over me”.  Maybe this song sounds corny to you, but no matter where I am, and no matter what I’m doing, when I hear this song, I stop. I stop and remember those wonderful slow dances in the kitchen.

As most of you know, my husband died all too early in life.  Every hope and every dream, every slow dance, and every goal seemed to die with him.

But not for long. I am a survivor. I come from a long lineage of survivors.  Some may think it’s bad that I cherish myself. Some may see it as selfish that I want to not only survive, but to flourish.

As the years have passed I now have new dance partners in my life. My sister Terri and I dance often to  songs that empower us, make us laugh, and even feel sexy (thank you Robin Thicke).  I’ve twirled with my granddaughters, and have been “dipped” on Christmas Eve in Charleston by my friend Louise.

As of this writing I don’t have a special man in my life to share those intimate kitchen dances with, but that doesn’t stop me from cranking up my music and dancing to Enya in the kitchen by myself… just fully clothed now.

And if you’re looking for a dance partner, just look around you.  I’ll bet you there’s someone wanting to dance just a badly as you do. And if not, just look in the mirror and know that reflection that you are seeing is your own perfect partner (clothing optional).

Peace,

Cat