I sat in a dark basement unsure how to operate a complex power tool when Mike approaches and I ask him why he bought so many complex things. He knows what I really mean,

"Why did you die and leave me with so many complex things to figure out?"

For once we aren't rushing into each other's arms, we aren't clasping to the wisps of each other that still linger in our subconscious. We just stand and talk, face to face. Like the soul mates we once were.

"When I had the choice to die, I couldn't resist. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities".

I huff a little air out of my nose. My mind goes back, almost 3 years back. To the morning he lay on the couch, between this world and the next. He had survived before: I had revived him, others had revived him. But this time he chose to float further down the stream of nothingness. Losing his full consciousness to the void.

I tell him I understand. I can't hide the pain, but it doesn't boil on the surface like fresh blisters anymore. He leans down and looks me in the eye, "I am sorry I don't get to visit like I'd wanted, I don't get to see you grow up. I left a lot of pain, you and Mark took the brunt of it."

I remember last year at the cemetery - 2 years after. The only person who seemed to ache like I did was his closest brother. The sight of each other was almost too much for either of us to bear. The only other person his little brother Mikey loved as much as him, was me - and vice versa.

One last thing strikes me as my alarm starts robbing my time with Mike short: he isn't magically better. I am not talking to the Mike I fell in love with at 17, or the Mike that sits atop the pedestal in my memories: the one carved of the good times and not the bad. I am talking, albeit rationally, to the Mike that left.

There is no illusion that the mental illness and brain injuries that sold our time short would have reversed and graciously re-instituted our marriage.

Regardless of his decision to float away, we would never have lived the life we had planned. Those dreams were not meant for us. Even if he had chose to live, our marriage and love story had already died.





Thank you for joining June's Widowed Blog Hop. I hope you'll stop by the other widowed bloggers and send them some love. 

http://samanthalightgallagher.wordpress.com/widowed-blog-hop/


Samantha of the Crazy Courage blog
Janine of One Breath At A Time
Red’s The M3 Blog
Christine of Widow Island
Tim’s Diary of a Widower
Running Forward: Abel Keogh’s Blog
Tamara of Artful Living After Loss
Jessica at Buttons to Beans
Missing Bobby: A Widow’s Journey
The Grief Toolbox
The Widow’s Mite: Encouragement for Widows
Widowed Yogi
Choosing Grace Today

In general I feel like I am able to fit into normal society with typical emotional and physical reactions to life. I can at least fake it until I get home. The auto shop is one of those places that, even 2 years later, invokes complete "widow brain".

feels like the world is coming at you like this

Widow Brain (noun): The state of complete disbelief and inability to remember facts or function logically after the death of spouse. See Also: break downs at grocery store, mechanics, car pool lane and any serious/mundane decisions points. Visualization can be seen at right:








Today I took my car to my usual mechanic's office, at the entire other edge of town, so running on my lunch break wasn't the brightest idea. This is the mechanic that I used when I lived on this side of town (read: when I lived with Mike in "Our House") (also note the inherent potential for underlying anxiety at getting off the exit which used to mean "home".) In spite of all of these things, I was cocky: I figured it would be a quick "nothing big" visit. I needed an oil change and my check engine light had come on over the weekend. But since I have a 13 year old Subaru, I wasn't worried about the check engine light, it wasn't flashing the impending-doom flash, and old Subarus are notorious for ghost lights.

Via

I was lucky enough that my little brother was headed to the same mechanic's for his emission and inspection. So he brought me a Pelligrino and I shared a bite of my lunch and we chatted and harassed each other like brothers and sisters do.

Then came the lecture from the mechanic:

• I apparently use the wrong gas (didn't know that was possible)
• I also apparently drive a legacy like a baja (whatever that means)
• not enough undercarriage washes (like I even knew that was a thing)
• dented exhaust (apparently, from a family reunion up a dirt road NOT meant for low clearance vehicles)
• leaking power steering (I don't want to deal with it!)
• leaking oil ("if its our fault I'll warranty it, but if you're adventures punctured something it'll be several hundred dollars")

And my not so composed responses:

• Uh huh
• huh?
• Sure
• Great
• Bring it in when?
• ok
• whatever
• Can I leave now?

I realized as soon as I pulled back onto the freeway to hurry back to work (after my now TWO HOUR lunch break) that I hadn't heard a thing. I called my brother = not that much help. So I called the mechanic back and explained that I had just been panicking instead of listening. He laughed and said "as soon as you left I turned to the other guy and told him you didn't get a word of that".

Its true. I panicked. I was shaking and in a cold sweat. Cars aren't my thing. Mike dealt with cars needing to go to the shop, he even dealt with oil changes. (I've learned that cars still need oil changes even when spouses die. ITS TRUE! Even when your husband dies, you're supposed to remember to take your car in for an oil change. Even if you haven't done that yourself in 6 years. Otherwise you have to pay to rebuild the engine. True, and pitiful story. )

I am reaching a new normal in so many areas of my life. But there are still these Kryptonite issues that humble my cocky-ass and remind me that I'm not so special. I can't defeat loss. I have good days and bad days, and sometimes both at once. In some ways I think its kind of (nice isn't the word) comforting maybe, to know that there are still places that Mike's life affects mine, for better or worse. Its good to be reminded that his impact in my life is still there. 

You can watch the tree today because it is still alive, but it is only alive because of the rain and the nutrients of all the years before. 

With Love and Light, 

Jess

Complicated Love - used by Creative Commons

"When I saw how much pain love could bring I felt sorry for those in love, when I saw how much joy love could bring I envied those in love." - Unknown


Many widow/ers have a beautiful love story of the man/woman who passed long before their love could ever run dry. Of kissing someone and not knowing it was going to be the last time. 

I knew I'd kissed Mike for the last time. 
Not because he was physically ill. 
But because we filed for divorce. 
The day we decided that we could not continue to hold each other back, 
we both left work early, curled up in bed together and cried. 
Cried and cried 
and held each other as if there was a death in the family. 
It was the death of our "family".

We cried for the hopes and dreams that would never be, 
we mourned the relationship that never reached the potential that we dreamed so vividly.
We hated that we were giving up, 
but neither of us had the strength to carry ourselves 
and the gimping, bleeding, festering relationship any longer. 

We praised each other for the accomplishments and goals we set for our new lives. 
I was going to continue doing yoga, 
Mike was going to finish school. 
We would find our true selves again,
then remarry someone new.

The plan:
Learn from the mistakes of our marriage, 
and find our friendship again.
We always were best friends. 
We were good at that. 

I was so excited for him to find his path. 
I could see it vividly....
he would finish school, find a pretty young woman, 
more in-line with his parent's expectations - 
and they would raise a family and be happy. 
I wanted this for him. 
I loved him so much that I wanted him to find his peace, his family and his future - even if that meant without me.

That may have been my plan, 
may even have been Mike's plan, 
But that wasn't fate's plan. 

Turns out, 
I wasn't the one holding Mike back.
I was the one treading his water.
I was the one fighting the demons.

Sometimes when you let the baby bird out of the nest, 
they fly right into the window.
But you still had to let them fly. 

I don't regret filing for divorce.
Mike and I agreed it was the right thing to do. 
But he never signed the papers before he took his last breath. 
A breath filled with desperation, escape and inhalants.

Filing for divorce doesn't take away the pain of death,
Death doesn't take away the pain of a failed marriage. 
Both are ranked as the most stressful events of your life
Having both together... 
if you haven't experienced it....
just be kind to those who have...
you can never understand...
how deep the betrayal, 
how tangible the regrets
how abandoning the loss
and how isolated you feel. 

Being a divorcing widow is a unique form of solitary confinement. 
You feel
isolated from your family, 
hated by your in-laws,
distanced by your friends,
and (sometimes) chastised by other widows. 

To all of the other separated, divorced, or 
just-plain-complicated widows out there. 
You aren't alone, 
You aren't a horrible person.
You are loved.
You did the best you could.

Try to love the man you married, 
and forgive the man who died.
In time, that combination of love and forgiveness will give you peace. 
Nothing removes the pain, 
But the ever-elusive peace can be attained, even for only moments. 


*Author's note: If you like this post, please share it. Let the "complicated widows" know that they are not alone, that you stand next to them and realize that their pain is just as real. 



With Love and Light, 
Jess

You can also check out this, and other blog posts at http://www.thewiddahood.com/2012/08/27/divorcingwidow/