"But I Don't Wannnnnnna......."

I'm not a whiner by nature. Luckily for me, neither are my kids, even when they were toddlers. I never had to listen to that incessant whining that kids tend to do, and my mom says she didn't have to listen to it either, when I was little. I guess it runs in the family.

However, there are times when I want to whine. I want to stomp my foot. I want to throw myself on the floor and kick and scream, "But I don't wannnnnnna...." What is it that I don't want to do?

Heal.

Well, it's sort of a quandary for me...it's something that I want to do, at least in my head, but not-so-much in my heart. I get so aggravated when someone tells me how great I'm doing. Instead of accepting the compliment gracefully, all I want to do is stomp my foot and scream, "But I don't want to heal...stop saying that!" I can't help but feel that healing means that I've forgotten about Bobby; the love that we had for each other; and the life that we shared. If I heal, then I am dissing him and our past.

But am I?

I am, as they say, caught between a rock and a hard place. I want to heal, but if I heal does it mean I'm forgetting about him? Am I saying to the world, "Look, I didn't need him. I'm fine without him!" That is not the person I want to be. I want to honor him always, with everything I choose to do.

But if I don't heal, am I portraying a woman who is weak with a codependent personality who can't make sensible decisions, raise her boys and live on her own? I don't want to be that person, either.

I wish there was a third choice. Maybe I'll have to invent it.

The Walk-Through

For those of you new to this blog, or for those who may have forgotten, Bobby and I worked together for the same organization. He was the IT Manager.

There are several buildings in our organization. Bobby, being the IT Manager, would visit the individual buildings from time to time when needed, which was rare. He was amazingly able to run the whole organization from his office, home, even from overseas when we were on vacation and his boss was sending him emails begging him to fix things that only he could fix.

Presently, our building is being set up for complete wireless access as of the fall, so the IT people are constantly doing walk-throughs in our building. One of the main computer hubs is less than six feet from my desk, so in the past week, I've seen these guys three times...our building technician, the vendors, and the not-so-new IT Manager.

The new IT Manager is a good guy. He was actually pallbearer at Bobby's funeral, and Bobby thought very highly of him. But he is not Bobby. And every time those guys come into my room where my desk is, all that goes through my head is that Bobby would be the one doing the walk through, and we would get to see each other at work, which we both enjoyed, since it rarely happened.

We liked seeing each other at work. One time, when no one was looking, we even stole a kiss goodbye when he was off to another building. Usually when he would be in my building, we would say goodbye and shake hands as a joke because we never parted company without kissing each other goodbye.

It was fun working for the same organization as my husband. Some people would not like it, but we both enjoyed it. In the 11 years that we worked together, we only worked on two small projects together, served together on one committee and attended one training session together. We loved working together. It's another loss to add to the big long list of losses that I suffered when he died.

I think I need a new job.

First Rule of Sales.....

I'm not a salesperson by any means. I couldn't sell snow to a snowman. But I do know that the first rule of sales is "Know Your Customer."

I attended "Camp Widow" this past weekend, which, by the way, was a really awesome experience (but that's another blog post). I flew into Myrtle Beach on a sinfully early flight on Friday morning, so I was in the lobby by 8:30 in the morning. I got a cup of coffee, then approached a woman sitting at a desk in the lobby, thinking she was the concierge, and asked her where I would find the registration table for Camp Widow.

She answered me that she was not the concierge, but the representative who sold the time-shares for the Marriott. She pointed to the gentleman at the other desk, indicating that he was the concierge.

I thanked her and attemped to walk away when she stopped me and asked me if I would like a free travel mug and a coupon for a free cup of coffee from Starbucks. I said, "Sure." Never hurts to have an extra travel mug, especially since they are easily lost. She gave me the mug and the coupon, and I attempted to walk away again, and she asked me if I would like to fill out a form to enter a drawing for a free vacation to Aruba. I asked her "For how many people?" I wouldn't want to win a vacation for two since I would have to choose which of my kids to take, which is simply unrealistic. Besides, I didn't really want my name on a mailing list for the solicitation of time-shares.

She said, "It's a trip for two."

"No, thank you," I answered.

"Are you sure? Is your spouse here with you?"

I looked at her incredulously. Hadn't I just asked her, not less than sixty seconds ago, where the registration table for Camp Widow was? I reminded her, "No, he's not. I'm here for Camp Widow." Emphasis on widow.

Her answer? "Oh, yes, you did say that." That's it. No "sorry", no "my condolences", nothing.

Luckily, I was in a good mood and I didn't reach out and slap her upside the back of her head, even though I would have liked to. But I know other widows that would have.

Moron.

It made a great story at Camp Widow, though!

2nd Anniversary

Yesterday was the second anniversary of Bobby's passing. It was weird...I was actually more sad than I was on the one year anniversary. The boys and I did the same thing that we did last year - we visited him at the cemetery and went to lunch at his favorite pizzeria. However, the rest of the day I was a little cranky...due to the fact that I couldn't get his death off of my mind, not even for a minute. I was not like that last year.

Last year, maybe I was still in shock.

Last year, the anniversary fell on a Friday, which meant school for the kids and activities after school. I rushed from here to there all night long. This year, it was on a quiet Sunday. After lunch at the pizzeria, I was not rushed to do anything or be anywhere.

Last year, I had so many jitters as the one-year anniversary approached, that I was quite surprised that the anticipation of the day was much more unsettling than the day itself. This year, as the day approached, I kept telling myself that the same thing would happen this year - that when the actual day came, I would be fine. But I wasn't fine! I may have underplayed it in my head - who knows?

I remember when everything was new, I thought to myself that one or two years down the road, I'd be "fine". That is another reason that I did not expect to be so depressed yesterday. No matter what the reason, it came as somewhat of a surprise, since I did not feel the same way last year. Feelings of grief tend to ebb and flow, they are stronger one day, and less so the next. Sometimes grief can come over you because you hear a song, or see a photo Sometimes there is no trigger at all. Grief has no rules, and no explanations. Grief is personal...no two people grieve the same way in the same time frame.

With that thought in mind, I will approach the next significant day with no expectations, in order to avoid the feelings of disappointment I had to deal with yesterday. I hope I'm successful!

Kid Power

Since the incident at the Festival of Arts Band Concert last week, I've been thinking about how my kids were able to make me feel better the other night without even knowing what they were doing.

My kids have powers. Not the kind of power you see on TV or in the movies - they can't move things with their minds or fly around on a magic carpet. As a matter of fact, they don't even know they have these powers, and I don't have to worry about them reading about it on this blog because these two wonderful boys think this blog is "girl stuff", so they wouldn't be caught dead reading it. (No pun intended).

Every so often I think about those first few days after Bobby passed away and the pile of mess that I had turned into. I was completely helpless, and I didn't want to be anything else. Three days after he passed away, I was lying in bed, in the house all alone, crying really really hard, and wishing for the first time in my whole life that I would die. And I'd been through some hard times...problems at school when I was little, divorced from my first husband, losing my dad, laid off from a job, wondering where my next rent payment was coming from. And let me tell you, all of these scenarios SUCKED, but none of them ever made me want to die! It was a scary, scary place to be.

So I was lying there, feeling like death would be better than this, yet not contemplating suicide simply because I couldn't go that far. But I can tell you that if Tony Soprano and his goons has showed up at my house "packing heat", I probably would have let them in and offered them a cup of coffee instead of running in the other direction.

Then I thought of something...the kids!! If I died, they would find me here!! That would traumatize them for life! I could not do that to them!! They just lost their dad - losing me, too, would ruin them! That thought scared me more than anything else that was going on with what I considered at the time my wretched life without Bobby. So I remember dragging myself out of that bed, into the shower so I'd be clean, dressed and ready for them when they got home.

Was I still a mess? Of course! But I had two other very important people to worry about, who held me together without even realizing it.

I Matter

Thursday night I attended the Festival of Arts Band Concert in our school district. All the school bands, 6th Grade through High School were playing in one concert - which was good for me because my kids are in two different schools, so this was only one trip to see both kids play.

The festival takes place in the High School Gym, so I found a spot in the bleachers where I'd be able to see my kid playing his clarinet. I arrived early in order to get a good spot, so I was sitting there for quite a while. I watched as the bleachers filled up with more and more parents.

It's times like this when I am really self-conscious of myself, though, and it makes me really uncomfortable. I looked around and the place was full of couples. Moms and Dads sitting together. And for some reason, on Thursday night, all the Moms and Dads seemed to be all over each other...holding hands, arms around each other, you get the picture. In the meantime, I felt like there was a neon sign over my head that said SINGLE MOM with a flashing arrow pointing at me. I felt like people were staring at me with a mixture of pity and contempt, while in reality, I'm sure nobody even gave me a second thought. But that is how I felt. I even scanned the bleachers to find any other single parents, and surprisingly, could not find one other single parent in those bleachers...not one.

Then something occurred to me...there wasn't anyone in this room to whom I mattered. I became involuntarily sad - and boy do I hate when that happens. There wasn't one person in that room to whom I was important, and if I got up and left, nobody would even notice, let alone care. I get really annoyed with myself when these thoughts enter my head, but I just cannot stop them sometimes.

Soon the concert started, and I listened to the first three bands play, which was somewhat uneventful for me personally because neither of my kids were in the first wave of bands. Then the second wave of kids took their seats, and I prepared to tape the first band. I re-situated myself to make sure I was able to see my kid, and propped my hand with the camera up on my knee, ready to hit record. As I scanned the band again, to make sure my kid would be in the picture, he looked up, caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back. Then, for some reason, I looked over at the other band, and ironically, my other kid was looking at me, and he smiled at me, too. And at that moment, I thought of something.

I did matter to someone in that room...two people, in fact. And my feelings of worthlessness immediately melted away. It's amazing what our kids can do for us without realizing it.

Time Alone

Years ago, when Bobby was alive and my boys were little, I rarely, if ever, had time alone to myself. So from time to time, Bobby would volunteer to take the boys out to Shop Rite or Home Depot to give me an hour alone to myself. I loved those scattered hours alone, and wouldn't even put the TV or radio on just because I was reveling in the sounds of silence. Although I never thought it was enough time, I didn't dwell on it either because I'm lucky to have had the forsight to enjoy the time I had with them when they were little, because I knew it wouldn't last.

Later on, when they were elementary-school age and they joined Cub Scouts, Bobby would take them on a weekend camping trip once every spring. Those two or three weekends were bliss...it was the first time I had the house to myself, to do as I pleased. I hardly went out those weekends because I just liked being in the house alone, by myself, with only the sound of something that I wanted to watch on TV - something that had nothing to do with The Disney Channel or How It's Made. I went to see the Sex and the City Movie with one of my friends without worrying about what time I had to be home because I could actually sleep late the next day.


I guess you all know where this is going....

Now my boys are teens and they go out a lot with their friends; Bobby is gone, and I often have a lot of time to myself. Too much, if you ask me. My frazzled friends tell me that they envy the time I have to myself, and I do understand where they are coming from - I've been there. However, I want to tell them to be careful of what you wish for. Too much of anything, even a good thing, is not what it's all cracked up to be.

A Rock to the Head

Sometimes even widows and widowers have to "up" each other in the grief department, which is really sad because we really should all be here to support each other, not trying to decide who's grief is worse than who's .

One of those examples are the widows who lose a spouse to a long illness versus the widows who lost their husbands suddenly, like in a car accident. The widow who loses their husband suddenly feels that the other one "at least had time to say goodbye" while the widow who has to watch thier husband go through a long terminal illness thinks of the other, "at least you didn't have to watch your husband fade away". Neither of these are correct. They both hurt the same.

I heard someone explain it like this...if someone throws a rock at your head, and you don't see it, it doesn't hurt any more or any less than if you did see the rock coming at your head and you couldn't move out of the way. The impact is the same, whether you know it is coming or not.

So the next time I hear or read this argument, I am going to tell this little story about the rock, which hopefully will make everyone realize that no matter how we lose our spouse, the impact is the same - very, very, painful.

To My Fellow Widows

I heard something on TV recently which described perfectly how I feel when people try to understand what I am dealing with. I tell them that no matter what I say, I can't describe it accurately, simply because widowhood is something you need to experience to understand. I know that I had no clue what it was all about until it happened to me. When our friends and families try to understand, they usually end up saying something stupid that either angers or hurts us, even though the intention is not there.

According to the TV show that I was watching, the person who originated this was a WWII veteran who was talking about fighting in WWII and what he experienced and witnessed, and when I looked it up on the internet, I found other variations as well. But it can definitely be applied to widowhood.

So, to all my widowed friends:

To those who are experiencing it, no explanation is necessary.

To those who have not experienced it, no explanation is possible.

Railroad Tracks

I don't really understand a lot of what people are talking about when they talk about grief. Especially when people get really existential. Phrases like "transform your grief", "you can be closer to your spouse more now than when he was alive", "people choose pain" and "the gifts of death,” confuse me and sometimes even anger me. When I read these things on Facebook or other websites for widowed people I'm probably looking at the computer with a glazed look on my face because most of this stuff makes no sense to me. I'm much more comfortable living in the concrete.

So once in a while, when something comes my way that does make me understand more of what I am going through, I'm thrilled because I'm really tired of not "getting it". Recently, I saw this on the web (and I do not remember where I saw it):

Living with grief is like traveling on a railroad track. One side of the track is sadness and the other side of the track is happiness. When a train travels on a track, it travels on both sides, simultaneously, like a grieving person lives their life, sad and happy, at the same time.

I thought that was great because it's a really concrete illustration of how I feel the majority of the time. It also really helps me because it allows me to give to others who've never been through this a clearer picture of how my life is now.

And it makes a lot more sense than that other stuff!!!!

Weekend in Bed

Don't get too excited, nothing X-rated going on over here.

Last weekend I started to feel like I was getting a head cold, so I got myself a supply of DayQuil and NyQuil and stubbornly plowed my way through the work week, wrongly thinking that if I ignored it, it would go away.

I was wrong.

By Saturday morning, not only had I only gotten worse, but now I had an upset stomach and nausea along with everything else. So I dragged myself to the doctor's office only to find out that not only did I have a sinus infection, but a stomach virus along with it. I was prescribed some antibiotics, (which the doctor warned may upset my stomach - and they did) stopped at ShopRite to get the prescription filled, went home, and crawled into bed. I stayed there until Sunday night when I had no choice but to drag my butt out of bed and take the kids to an important meeting for an upcoming trip they are taking.

Boy did I miss Bobby this weekend! I miss him all the time, but he had a great way with me when I was sick. No, he didn't sit by my bedside the whole time, but he was there to drive me to the doctor's, pick up my prescription, make me tea, bring me my meds, make me toast, and drive the kids to where ever they had to go so I wouldn't have to get dressed and leave my nice warm house in the middle of February. He would also suffer through re-runs of "I Dream of Jeannie" and "Charmed" just to keep me company when I was sick.

However, to give credit where credit is due, I must say that even though I had to pick up my prescription and drive the kids to their meeting, they did help me out when they were home. Of course, where Bobby would stop by my room every so often to see if I needed anything or just spend some time with me, my teens pretty much forgot I was there unless I texted them. Yes, I had to text them across a small three bedroom ranch house, but they did bring me something to drink when I asked, and my oldest even made me something to eat.

So even though I had some help, it wasn't the same. And again, it was one of those situations that magnified the fact that he is gone. And that pain is something that the antibiotics can't help.

Unexpected Surprise

Boy, did I get a surprise in my email the other day! It was from the Circle of Moms Online Community saying that this blog was nominated to the Top 25 Moms with Inspiring Families - 2012 list on Circle of Moms! I was so shocked, yet pleasantly surprised. If you're enjoying my blog, please vote for me every day between now and March 7. The link is to the right (the pink circle).

Thank you so much!!

Hearts and Flowers and Candy...Oh My!

Yes, I’m being sarcastic.

I’ve turned into one of those “single” people who considers Valentine’s Day a big joke. (I use the word "single" lightly since I really don't feel "single" either, but that is a subject for another post.) I can’t stand all the big giant red hearts all over the stores, and the advertisements showing the smiling perfect couple dressed in the perfect clothes at the perfect restaurant. It’s making me nauseous.

Not that Bobby and I were really big Valentine’s Day fans to begin with. Of course in the beginning of our relationship he would spend a month’s rent to send me 2 dozen red roses to work on Valentine’s Day, which quickly went the way of the dodo bird once we had a mortgage. After that, my gift consisted of whatever he could find at CVS on his way home from work, which was fine with me because I was at Shop-rite doing the same thing. All in the name of marital bliss.

This is not my first Valentine’s Day without him. (You can read about my first one here.) However, while I was sad last year, I am more disgusted this year. And maybe a little bitter, too, which I hate to admit to, but there you go. And I am typically not a bitter person! But I really miss those last minute cards and gifts from CVS. I hate being without him every day, and this is just another reminder that I am alone. And the last thing I need is another reminder!

Lisa Niemi Swayze

I recently read an interview with Lisa Niemi Swayze in the latest issue of "Ladies Home Journal". She talks about her memoir that she recently published called, "Worth Fighting For: Love, Loss, and Moving Forward". The memoir got great reviews, but I haven't read it. That's not why I'm mentioning it.

Lisa said many things in the interview that I was able to relate to, since we both had the honor of caring for the man we loved during his illness and last days of his life. But one thing that she said toward the end of the interview really resonated with me - "I'm usually such a positive person, but I found nothing positive about widowhood." (Miller, 127)

Like Lisa, I too, haven't found anything positive about widowhood, either. Has anything positive happened to me since he died? Yes, of course. But has anything positive happened to me as a result of being a widow? No, not at all! Anything positive that has happened to me or my family since he died would have happened even if he was still here. So Lisa really nailed it on the head.

I'll be writing more about Lisa in the future. Her interview was awesome.

Source: Miller, Kenneth. "Life After Patrick." Ladies Home Journal Feb. 2012: 122+.

Widow Wedding

Nope...not my wedding.

I ran into an old friend, Joe, who retired about two years ago. He was widowed about five years ago, and recently re-married this past summer. (This is a different "Joe" than the one I blogged about earlier from church).

I remember when Bobby was dying, Joe came and sat with me one afternoon and let me talk out my feelings. He just listened, and it was really good for me because he knew exactly what I was going through. His wife, Leslie, had also passed away of an illness, and he assured me that after Bobby passed away, that he would always be a part of my life. He told me that he still spoke to Leslie, three years later, every single day.

Since his retirement, I don't see him any more, but recently ran into him and congratulated him since I heard he had gotten remarried. The woman he married, Amanda, is a casual acquaintance whom I've met a few times through others. When I congratulated him, he told me how happy he was being remarried to Amanda and that everything was wonderful. I hugged him and told him that I was so happy for him, but remembered what he had told me two years ago, so I asked, "Do you still talk to Leslie every day?"

He smiled, "Of course I do."

This made me smile. Not because I'm running out to get married tomorrow (or anytime in the near future) but because it made me happy to know that no matter how happy he was with Amanda, he wasn't forgetting Leslie. But in my usual style, I blurted out, "Amanda doesn't mind?"

What he told me next really surprised me. "Of course not. Amanda doesn't expect me to forget Leslie, ever. I still have Leslie's pictures up in the house, along with Amanda's pictures and other family members. We remembered both Leslie and Rita at the ceremony at the church." (Rita was Amanda's sister who passed away).

I told him that I thought this whole situation was awesome. He thanked me for the well wishes, just as Amanda joined us. I gave Amanda a hug and congratulated her, too. They looked like they were still on their honeymoon.

I chose to include this story on my blog because there is so much written online about marrying widows and widowers and it is not necessarily in the best interest of the widow or widower. Much of it is all about the feelings of the second spouse, and doesn't take into consideration that the widow(er) is still more than likely in love with the late spouse. There are even books written about not marrying widow(er)s unless they completely purge the late spouse from their lives and heart.

In my humble opinion, it takes a very special person, and a very mature person, to love and marry a widow(er). This person has to realize and accept that he/she will never be the only one in the widow(er)'s heart, yet also be secure in knowing that if the widow(er) truly loves him/her, it won't take away from the relationship. If someone cannot handle it, then they need to get out of the relationship. Furthermore, if the widow(er) cannot commit to you or the relationship, it has nothing to do wth the widow(er) status...to use that old cliche, "He/she's just not that into you," and the person needs to get over it and move on.

I'm not dating. But I can tell you that if I was dating, I would not be comfortable dating anyone who wants me to purge Bobby from my heart; his memories from my every day life or his name from my lips. He has a permanent place with me forever. But since I cannot speak from experience that this works and works well, try reading any of these, where the late spouse lives on while the marriage with the current spouse is both happy and thriving.

• http://freshwidow.blogspot.com/


• http://mysaintedeadhusband.blogspot.com/


• http://hylamolander.com/category/blog/ (you have to scroll down, as Hyla has started to blog about other things in her life besides widowhood).


• I thought this was pretty good, too, (although most of the comments afterward go against everything I believe in): http://youngwidowsandwidowersblog.blogspot.com/2008/12/simple-rules-for-dating-widowwidower.html

Choice - Are We Blaming the Victim?

Hmmmm...another Facebook post to get my mind going.

There is a widower on Facebook whom I follow that posts inspirational messages for widows and people who have lost other loved ones. He posted on his page the other day:

Lynette posted: "There will always be a hole in my heart where my daughter used to be."

He replied "...if that is the experience you want to create for yourself, you will. But why choose that pain?"

Someone please explain to me why one would choose to create that kind of pain for themselves?

Well, I have no idea who Lynette is, but I can be reasonably sure that she is not choosing to create this pain. Talk about blaming the victim.

Yes, his post made me angry. I cannot and will not believe that anyone “chooses” to be in pain. I know I didn’t when Bobby first passed away. I was a mess. But given the choice, I much rather would have liked to smile and be happy. But according to this post, I chose to be a mess…it was my fault I wasn’t waking up the next morning and doing a happy dance.

I do believe that as humans, we have a choice to do happy things and create certain situations that will make us happy. My perfect own example is my trip to Paris, which I blogged about earlier. I chose to go on that trip, and it was an amazing experience. I chose to go to dinner at a friend’s house last night and had a great time. I chose to take my kids to Times Square on New Year’s Eve and it was awesome. But during all of these events, I, too, had and still have a hole in my heart where Bobby used to be. I did not choose for that hole to exist, it just does. Like the wind and the clouds and the moon, it is just there, and there is nothing I or anyone can do to change it. Humans don’t choose everything that happens, so I think the post was sort of harsh.

When the Oprah show ended last year, I came across an article written by two doctors who said that no matter how much good Oprah did, they were so glad to see her go off the air. Their reasoning was this: Oprah and her guests consistently talked about creating your own new life, and basically how if your life sucked, it was your fault. (Not Oprah’s exact words, but that was the idea). These doctors went on to reveal that their patients were blaming themselves when they could not dig themselves out of some sort of hole, and that it was hindering their healing. (If I remember correctly, these doctors were actually psychologists, but I cannot remember. If I ever come across the article again, I will post a link). I used to watch Oprah, and I never actually thought of it in that way. But it’s true, in a sense, it is blaming the victim.

I think everyone wants to be happy and choose to move forward with their lives, with the exception of a minor few. My gut tells me that Lynette is not in that minority. Part of me would really like to reach out to this woman, who is carrying that hole in her heart, give her a hug, and tell her that it is not her fault. Because it’s not.

I think everyone wants to be happy and choose to move forward with their lives, with the exception of a minor few. My gut tells me that Lynette is not in that minority. Part of me would really like to reach out to this woman, who is carrying that hole in her heart, give her a hug, and tell her that it is not her fault. Because it’s not.

Second Time Around

It is 11:32 pm, Christmas Night, and I got through my second Christmas without my love with me. It's hard to say how I feel. There is no word to describe it. But it's not good.

I made the Christmas Eve dinner last night like I usually did, and my extended family came over and we unwrapped gifts and partied. I laughed and smiled and drove myself crazy making sure everything was just perfect. Today I went to my brother's house to celebrate Christmas with my extended family and celebrate my niece's birthday, who was born on Christmas Day. Again, fun, laughter, jokes and a lot of wine.

But the whole time, and still, I have a nagging, troubled, and for lack of a better word, "yucky" feeling in the pit of my stomach, over the fact that he is not here. It's amazing how I can partake in happy times, yet be so sad at the same time! It's confusing and uncomfortable, and impossible to explain with mere words. And it's not that this only happens on Christmas, it just happens to be a bit magnified during this time.

So, since I can't really explain how I feel, I'll just stop writing for now. I miss him so much, maybe it is just time for a good cry.

Merry Christmas, my love. I miss you more than words can say.

It's Not My Fault

I was on Facebook the other day and I read a post by Hyla Molander, a widow/author/inspirational speaker. She was a young widowed mom about 8 years ago, and is now happily remarried with another child by her second husband. She often posts about how thankful she is with her new family and, in her words, “amazing husband”, in addition to posting about her late husband as well. She seems like a happy, upbeat person who has had her share of hard times and has gotten through most of them successfully. Something that most widows strive for after such a horrible loss, but unfortunately, don’t always achieve.

Well, the other day on Facebook, she posted, Just now, the yoga instructor had us open our hearts. When I opened mine, I realized it is still broken. I thought that was really profound, to tell you the truth. Here we have a woman who has seemingly got through and past the bad times to create an awesome and happy life for herself and her children, and then, unexpectedly while meditating, she opened her heart to find that it is still broken, after all these years.

She still misses her first husband. Even though she has built this wonderful life for herself, her heart still breaks for her first husband. And even though I was sorry for Hyla when I read the post, I was also relieved to have read this, because I’ve always thought that my heart will always be broken, no matter where this life takes me or what life I choose to create or not. It made me question myself as to whether or not I was really learning to move forward in my life, and I was starting to feel like it was my “own damn fault” that I am still nursing a broken heart.

Well, now I know it’s not true, and I know it is not my fault. The validation really meant a lot.

Chronic Pain

I was talking to some of my colleagues today, and one of them asked me, "How are you doing?" I said I was alright, but she clarified, "No, how are you really doing? How are things at home?" I said, "Well...I'm not over it. It still sucks."

"Has it gotten any better? Easier?" she asked me.

I had to think for a moment. Was it better? No, certainly not better! Was it easier? Hell, no, far from easier. "I'm getting used to it," I answered. That was the best I could do; I could not think of any other way to put it.

"Used to it?" she clarified.

"Yeah, used to it. You know, like when someone has chronic pain. Like my friend who was in a car accident a long time ago...she has chronic pain in her arm 24/7. That's how it is for me. It is a chronic pain, only the pain is in my heart. I've gotten used to it being there. I'm learning to live with it, but I don't like it. I never will. I wish it would go away. But I know it's never going to go away. So I'm getting used to it."

She got it.

Hats

If I can consider myself "lucky" for anything, it is that before Bobby died, we were able to say everything we needed to say to each other. Neither one of us had any doubt for the love that we had for each other. No issue was left unresolved and when he died I had no regrets as to something I should have said or done, or something that should have been discussed.

Until now.

Let me explain. Bobby never liked to wear hats. No matter how cold it got, he refused to wear a hat. We were together for 19 years, and I think it took me until our 15th year together to finally convince him to wear a hat one day when we took the kids to see the Christmas windows in New York City. It was a bitterly cold day between Christmas and New Year's, and the boys and I were bundled up with earmuffs, hats, scarves and mittens. Bobby had on his leather jacket, no gloves and no hat. When he started complaining about the cold, I did not say a word. Instead, I gave him a look which prompted him to take $5 out of his wallet and buy a black knitted cap from some guy on the street. Several minutes later when I asked him if he felt better, he smiled and said "Yes". Finally, he wore a hat! After that day, he would occasionally take out that cap to wear while shoveling snow or working outside in the cold, but for the most part, he never wore another hat again as long as I knew him.

Fast forward to about two weeks ago. I was in Florida and I met up with my stepdaughter, who gave me a bunch of pictures of Bobby from when he was in his 20s. (I met him when he was 35). In about half the pictures, he is wearing a hat! Cowboy hat, engineer's hat, baseball cap - all different types of hats. Yet when I met him, he said he hated hats and would not wear one.

So folks, here is my one unresolved issue. I knew I couldn't be that lucky to have NO unresolved issues with him. I'll never know why he decided he didn't like hats. But as far as issues go, at least this is a minor, and somewhat humorous one!