Sarah McLachlan – Fear (live) HQ

…He Guided Me To Tennessee

…and then dropped me off and said “later”.  I think I heard chuckling as he sauntered away…

I haven’t posted in what feels like ages, but I’ve been so wrapped up in the move that I have hardly been able to think about anything else.  I SWEAR if I ever do this again, I am selling everything and showing up to my new destination with my suitcase and a couple of kids.

If they’re lucky (and I don’t mean the suitcases).

Okay, that was a joke, I love my children.  But if someone called CPS on me, it would just fit right in to an already ridiculous week and a half.  Sigh…

Well, I really just popped in to clear out the cobwebs and chase away the crickets.  Eventually I’ll get my belongings (the ones that were guaranteed to arrive today but will be arriving – supposedly – on Sunday, though I won’t be holding my breath) and can move from the hotel we’re currently staying in to our new home.  That might be nice.

A life in extended flux.  It’s not for the squeamish.

Jennifer Hudson Super Bowl National Anthem

 

J Hud Killllls it...

I was so moved by her rendition of the National Anthem, that I had to post about it.  But not on this blog.  On my other blog.

 

I’ll post a better quality copy when one is posted, but I culled from the best Youtube had to offer within 20 minutes of the performance.  If you missed it, you should definitely pop over and take a listen…

Words Like Violence, Break The Silence

So the title of this post is culled from lyrics of a song that is really about the spoken word and how much the words we say can hurt one another, when in fact, we would rather judge ourselves and our relationships by our actions, our surroundings, rather than the things that we say (we’d all be best if we just shut up, basically LOL).  However, I feel that you don’t have to have a conversation with anyone to feel the sting of words.

Today I did something that, while some of you may find ridiculous, was something that took me a couple of years to actually do.  I changed my Myspace status to

Single.

Myspace, in it’s infinite wisdom and want to socially include everyone, oddly doesn’t have a status for widows/widowers.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, they have a status for SWINGERS, but not widows.  I guess they, too, think widows and widowers are old gals and geezers who spend their afternoons at the senior center, playing checkers and comparing snapshots of their grandchildren before heading out for a late supper (at 5PM) at Applebee’s.  Not young, hip men and women who hang out on Myspace and keep their friends in the loop via Twitter.  

A-holes.

 

 

Anywho, for most of this time since losing Ethan I had my status set as “in a relationship”.  I didn’t want to seem as if I was in denial by continuing to list myself as “married”, and I was aware that, technically, I was no longer married, however, I couldn’t have felt further from single.  I think it was honest to state that I was “in a relationship”, because I really feel that I have still been in a relationship with Ethan, and until I reconciled the idea of no longer being in that relationship, that was the best way to describe myself. 

Approaching two years since losing him, I feel that now is a good time for a status change for a couple of reasons.  

First, and most notably, I am truly coming to a place where I no longer feel married to my husband.  I miss him terribly, but I don’t feel like his wife (I will post separately about my feeling about grieving the loss of Ethan vs. grieving the loss of my marriage).  I am solo parenting, and making all of the decisions that we would have made as a couple, on my own.  I am responsible for taking care of our family and home, financially, on my own.  Although I always consider what Ethan may have thought about this or that decision, that question, or subsequent answer, does not dictate how I function nor does it ultimately keep me from making a decision to do something that I know will benefit me personally, or our family overall.  Of course this could be because I think, for the most part, that Ethan would have agreed with me on many of the decisions I’ve made, at least the major ones (probably a testament to our marriage, despite whatever issues we may have had during it’s course).  As cliched as this sounds, I truly DO believe that he would want me to do what is going to bring me and the girls happiness, I know this because he strived so very hard for that while he was alive, I can’t imagine he’d want anything less in his death.

Secondly, and far less important, is the idea, especially at two years out, that I may be indicating that I am in a NEW relationship.  As many people at my stage of the journey are either already dating or stepping back out into the world of dating, it’s been indicated to me more than once that I was giving off some sort of signal that I am in a relationship with a new man.  For the record I AM SO NOT, nor do I know if I am ready yet to wander down that road.  At least, not for now.  

“Not for now”, you say?

Yes, not for now.

I don’t know what my life has in store for me.  But my relationship with Ethan taught me many things.  One of those things is that I learned how wonderful it is to have someone with whom to share my life, my world with.  Someone who loves me completely for all of my positive attributes as well as all of my faults.  Someone I’m not afraid to talk to about my life, my past with, who won’t judge me for my mistakes.  Someone who can accept with an open mind, and appreciate, where I’ve come from, and the person that I’ve worked very hard to become.  

For so many years before meeting Ethan I thought I would be okay with being alone.  As a matter of fact, I believed until I met him, that I would spend the rest of my life alone, that marriage was not “in the cards” for me.  I stopped thinking about the life that I would one day have “when I got married”, but rather, the life that I needed to begin building for myself and my daughter (and, having crossed over into my 30s, I was quite a bit behind the ball at that point).  Now I find myself, (despite the best of intentions by the both of us) once again on my own, now with two children – a teen and a toddler – and once again thinking about the life that I better get to building for us.  As much as I do not wish to close myself off to the potential that I may stumble into some sort of partner at some point in the future (LOL), I don’t yet know if I am really ready for all of that at this point in my journey.

By changing my status to “single” I’m not indicating that I am “on the market”, or “actively looking” or whatever, it just means I’ve come to terms with the idea that I am no longer Ethan’s wife.  Just another step along this road I travel, without a map, on my way to some unrecognizable destination…

Emancipate Yourselves From Mental Slavery

I can’t believe how many days have gone by since my last post!  Hold on, folks, it’s gonna be a rambler LOL…

I’ve gotten very caught up in the whole inaugural thing.  I don’t think I’ve watched as much CNN in the past year as I’ve watched in the past couple of weeks.  It’s an exciting time for our country, I sure wish Ethan were here to see it.  Im sure that wherever he is, he is very pleased indeed…

Watching the inauguration itself – the throngs of people, the generations of families who showed up to watch this incredible moment of American history – I began to think of my parents, my father in particular, and then his parents.  I wondered what they would have thought about all of it had they lived long enough to see this moment.  My Grandparents drove from Louisiana to California during the 1940s in the hopes of escaping segregation and finding a better life for their family.  My grandmother was born and raised on a farm in a rural area of northern Louisiana.  When I see pictures of the time I can’t imagine what they raised there, it just looks to me like a bunch of dried up dirt.  As a black woman in Louisiana during the early part of the century, she was not entitled to an education and  I remember as a young girl finding out that the only words my Grandmother knew how to actually write were the words contained in her own name.  She was married off and had her first child somewhere around the age of 15.  

Then I thought about HER grandparents…  born into slavery.  And I suddenly realized something. I realized that despite my incredible heartache, despite my seemingly overwhelming loss, in “the grand scheme of life”, as they say

Perhaps my current struggles aren’t that incredibly difficult.

My grandmother had 9 children (including two sets of twins back to back) and, eventually came to raise them all in an apartment in the projects of San Pedro.  She was abandoned by my Grandfather for about 10 years (another story for another post), so to feed her family she washed and ironed peoples clothes.  Yet, I can not recall her ever having a bad thing to say about her life (nor my Grandfather, or any other human for that matter).  She came from a very hard place, full of poverty, illness and oppression, backwards laws and even more backward law enforcers, but she always had an open door and a hot meal for anyone who happened by.  

I imagined her grandparents, born slaves in the deep (deep!) south.  What must it be like to have a baby and have it snatched away, sold, traded as property?  To be separated from your parents as a child?  Separated from your husband (if your marriage is even acknowledged), brother, sister, wife?  How does it feel to be considered less than a whole person?  

I’d started, not long ago, to do some ancestry research and of course, like so many others, ran into the “1860 wall”, where documentation of blacks transition from the birth certificate/marriage records, to finding descriptives of human slaves on itemized real estate transactions – Male, 32, brick layer.  Female, 15, housekeeper.  Male, 20, farm/field help.  All listed among the dishes, silverware, draperies and furnishings to be sold with a house or other property.  It hurt my heart so badly, to see that time after time, that after a while I gave up the research.

We all know the old saying “there’s always someone who has it worse than you”.  And it is true.  I think, however, we’ve become so disconnected in our society – in our cubicles, our fenced yards – that though we say this, in reality we fail to actually be able to imagine a world beyond our “personal space”.  I am as guilty as anyone for this.  Witnessing this weeks events, however, made me seriously look beyond myself for the first time in a very long time.  Sure, I’ve dispensed my fair share of advice to others, made a resolution to be kind(er… LOL), turned my focus toward what I can to for others who find themselves walking this awful “grief journey”.  But none of that compared to even the most brief examination of myself in relation to the past of my own family, and the sacrifices they had to endure to not only make our current reality, well, a reality, but what had to happen for me to even be.  Taking in and thoughtfully considering the fact that our Federal government had only struck down the anti-miscegenation laws (which called for interracial marriage to be illegal) in 1967, 5 short years before I was born to a married couple of different races – a black father and white mother. 

While you may think this is not at all related to my grief, my loss, think again.  This is a post about  perspective.  My perspective changed greatly this week.  And several times when I’ve wanted to feel down and overwhelmed these past few days, I’ve thought of my Grandmother’s image from a very old family photo of her (along with several other generations of both of my grandparents families).  I see her there, her three oldest children having already been born, surrounded by an old crooked wood porch and a bunch of dirt.  Sitting there on that rickety porch, as poor as the dirt on which her chair was perched, she didn’t dwell on her misfortune, rather, she and her husband dared to dream of a better life.

Maybe, just maybe, changing my perspective can change my life…

Take a moment to think about the blessings bestowed upon you by those who came before you, by those who have loved you and by those whom you’ve had the opportunity to call friend.

You Got Me, And, Baby, I Got You

You may have noticed that I have a page of links here… somewhere… oh, there they are, over there on the right side of your screen (yes your right…).

If you haven’t checked them out, you should.  And if you don’t feel like it, that’s fine, too, however, you really need to check out this blog by a young widower raising his infant daughter.  

He writes with a lot of honesty, courage and hope.

Enjoy

Runnin’ Down The Road Tryin’ To Loosen My Load

As I ramble toward the two year anniversary of Ethan’s death, I find that I am really beginning to come to certain realizations about my loss, myself, my future.  As I turn and look behind me, I am often amazed by what I see.  Miles I never thought I would survive.  What was once cracked, broken, potholed road for as long as the eye could see, has given way to miles of smoother pavement, with the odd short stretches of bumpy asphalt – to be expected on any journey as long as this – but they become fewer and further between as I continue rolling along…

So many changes happening to me and my family right now, so much to try to grasp, sometimes it feels like I can’t cling tight to any of it without it all just falling through my too-narrow fingers.  I know that I need to focus on one thing at a time, something that’s always been a problem for me (I’m a multi-tasker), but necessary in light of the highly emotionally charged nature of all that is currently happening.  So I will stop and I will deal with one task at a time.  First on the list: Getting through the move.

I think that Ethan would be proud of my progress.  I wish that he didn’t have to be, at least not my progress with this, anyway.  I wish that he could be proud of my progress in my career, or with the children, but since he is not here, I hope that he is proud of my progress on the journey I am now on without him, and my path toward healing.

The journey is complex, trying, sorrowful, profound, mind blowing, clarifying.  But I believe that there is light at some point along the way (I will not say “the end” because I do not believe any such place exists).  I’ve gained clarity on a lot of issues, both those that matter immensely, and those that do not matter in the least, and I’ve gown exponentially because of this.  I’ve learned things I never knew I’d want or need to learn in my lifetime.  

I’ve been spending a lot of time these past few days pondering those things.  Would I have learned them had I not lost Ethan?  Would the answer to that matter had I not lost Ethan?  I don’t know the answer to that (I sure wish I did), however, I do know that what I have learned is worth sharing.  A taster-spoon size helping of so very many things I’ve learned along the way:

 

Healing from this kind of catastrophic loss is  a lifetime journey.  It DOES get easier, but it IS forever.

There is no such thing as “closure” on matters such as these, nor would I want to “close” the door on what we had, who he was, who we were.

You do not “get over it” you learn to live with it.  Like a massive load, you learn just how to carry it “just right” so it doesn’t make you topple over under its weight.

Hind sight is 20/20. 

You can not undo what has been done.  He’s not coming back.  Ever.

Eating is not a luxury, it’s a survival skill.

As much as I’d like to be, I am neither now, nor will I ever be, in control of the entire Universe.

I DO need people afterall.

Kindness is the key to healing.  Be kind to yourself (and others).

Through the greatest trials, we are offered the greatest opportunities to learn.

By helping others to heal, you, in turn, help yourself to do the same.

One is truly the loneliest number.

 

What have you learned thus far on your journey?

Book Review: Widows Wear Stilettos, A Practical And Emotional Guide For The Young Widow

 

 

Go directly to the latest book review by clicking here: Widows Wear Stilettos, A Practical And Emotional Guide For The Young Widow

 

Enjoy

…A Few More Words From The Mouths Of Babes

Yesterday my youngest and I were sitting in my office.  I was clip-clapping away on my computer, she was sitting across from me (I have an “L” shaped desk) doodling on a piece of paper.  Out of the blue she stopped drawing, looked up and addressed me:

Ava:  Mommy

Me:  Yes…

Ava: Daddy loves you.

…Long pause.  I cock my head to one side and ponder this statement…

Me:  He does?

Ava:  Yes.  He loves you really, really much!

Me:  He does?

Ava:  Yes.  And he loves me too!

Now, we probably don’t talk about her dad as much as we should, but she’s just so young, I don’t really know what to say to her about it, other than showing her pictures and that sort of thing now and then when the occasion arises.  I guess what is so surprising about this is how random it was.  We’d not been looking at photos, or talking about him.  We were in my office and there aren’t any family photos in there, and I don’t have a photo of him on my computer screen or anything.  

She just knows.  And felt she needed to let me know.

This is so hard.  You’ve no idea how hard it is to look at your three year old, and see her fathers face.  Her father that she can’t possibly have any recollection of.  And she finds it appropriate, in her own baby way, to comfort me (whether she knew it or not).  

Ashamedly, we’d not talked about him directly in a little while.  Maybe this was her way of letting me know that it was okay to do so…

Now You’re Stuck In A Moment, And You Can’t Get Out Of It…

A couple of weeks ago I was feeling pretty good and I decided that I would get a head start on the packing (oohhh all the packing!) that needs to be done for the move to Nashville.  I thought I would start small.  A few decorative items that I really don’t need, may as well box ‘em up, right?

I dragged all of my vases and candleholders and various sentimental glass objects out of cabinets, the garage, or took them off of wherever they had been displayed (good to scale down the “personal stuff” anyway since the house is – still – on the market) and brought them into the living room.  Got some boxes, pulled out the bubble wrap (you mean everyone doesn’t keep reams of bubble wrap on hand?  Oh…), and the brown paper.  Put it all in the middle of the living room floor.  And then I stopped.  And sat.  And stared.

And then I walked away.

That was over two weeks ago.  The stuff, along with the bubble wrap and boxes, is all still there.  Just sitting there, staring at me.  I said everyday over the Christmas break “I’m gonna get in there and pack up that stuff”.  Told my oldest, “today I want you to help me get in there and pack up that stuff”.  Something is just keeping me from doing it.  And, no it’s not just laziness, it’s like some greater force is rendering me unable to go in there and pack up those couple of vases, nick-knacks and what-nots.  I’m beginning to think it has something to do with the reality of what’s going on.  I mean, I know that the house has been on the market for several months, and that people have come and gone and at any time one of those people could have made an offer and the house could have been sold.  

But that hasn’t been the case.

And I know that I’ve bought the house in Nashville already and, obviously at some point, the transition would have to be made.  But it was always at some point in the future.

Now that I have tried to take a step toward really making that transition – by packing up a couple of boxes – I’m finding myself absolutely paralyzed.  It’s not fear, nor regret, nor uncertainty.  And, no, it’s not guilt.  It’s a quiet, yet overwhelming sadness at the fact that I am trying to move into a new phase in my life.  And by doing so, I’m leaving behind the “phase” where I was married to Ethan and we had a nice family, home and life.  I am overwhelmingly sad about what has become our reality.  I’ve not really had to think about that so much in many months, or even the past year.  Yeah, it comes up from time to time, and I do shed tears over it.  But it’s just stuff in my head.  I can resolve to “turn it off”, but I can’t do so with this move.  It’s physical, there is no “turning it off”.  It must be faced.

I know that I can’t bring back the past.  I can not change what happened.  I’ve reconciled myself with that fact, which gave me the strength to make the initial choice to move in the first place.  And I know, I’ve even talked about the fact, that our memories aren’t contained in “things” that our memories are in our hearts and in our minds and they will always be with us, as long as we choose for them to be.

I’m just having a real hard time putting my own words into action.  I have to admit that I’m actually having a hard time while even writing about this (I’ve had to back away from the keyboard a couple of times already)…

I have fallen into a really bad “moment”, and I can’t seem to get out of it…

I can’t sleep.  When I finally get to sleep, I can’t wake up.  The house has fallen into a bit of disarray (okay, it’s not that bad, but definitely not in a state for showing).  I look like crap.  I feel even worse.

And then, there’s the pile of stuff on the living room floor.

Maybe having gotten all of this out, I’ve made the first step in actually working through it.  If there is one thing I’ve learned from all of this, it’s that there is really no such thing as “getting over” things.  I find much of life, essentially, to  be a series of exercises on “working through” things.  I really need to work through this.  Not now, but RIGHT NOW.

I think I’ll start by actually picking up the phone and scheduling those moving companies.  Then I will go have a rendezvous with the pile of stuff on the floor in my living room.  Now that I know that someone else knows I need to get it done, perhaps I will actually… get it done…