Dodging bullets

I've gotten good at pretending. 
Acting as if I'm not still broken inside. 
Walking around leaving tiny shards of myself, pieces of my heart. 

I hate feeling this way. I hate being okay and then completely shattered. I feel incomplete. As if a thief has come in the middle of the night and has taken everything, my safety, my heart, my life. 

Confliction.
Gnawing. 

There HAS to be something. Some reason. I can't accept that this it. That I'm only left with this inferno because Hell is real.

That means Heaven must be too. It has to be. 

I need to be loved. I need to feel it. I have all this love for Christopher, it's drowning me. 
No love will be the same. 

Brutal.
Reality.

Every day I wake up and am reminded of what is and what is not. I get out of bed and put on the mask, all while dodging the reminders and thoughts that fire off constantly in my head. 

Smiles and blank stares. It's much prettier than what's underneath. 

But still here....

All I want for Christmas

There's an elephant in the room and he looks a lot like Christopher. 

I get it.

Trust me. 

I get it. 

I wouldn't know how to act around someone going through what I'm going through either. It's difficult. It's messy. I'm all over the place. I may want to talk to you, I may not. I may smile, I may hide. It's awkward. You're uncomfortable. I'm uncomfortable (this elephant is heavy) and you don't know how to behave around all this uncertainty. 

I get it. 

Just stop ignoring me. Stop pretending my husband didn't die. He did. He's dead. Not your husband, mine. You get to go home, to your life. This one's mine, and I've accepted that. You need to accept it as well. 

Talk to me. Ask me more than "how are you?" and then just stare at me blankly, waiting to see if I'm going to break down. Tell me a joke. I can still laugh and rather enjoy it. Talk to me about my husband. 

Not his death.

Not the pain. 

Not the circumstances of our unfortunate events. 

Not all the bullshit you've told yourself I must be feeling because guess what? You have no idea how I'm feeling. This not being said as some "everyone grieves differently" mantra but because you don't. If you would take some time and reach out, then maybe? But everyone assumes and then... well, you know the joke. 

Be present. Quit pretending like you care if you don't. 

Sincerity, that's all I want. I want to be treated like I'm more than just my husband's death. It's not too much to ask for and you may be surprised at what you'd learn. 

I'm not as broken as you think. 

I'm more capable than you could ever imagine. 

I laugh, I dance, I sing, I cry, I cherish every moment. 

I'm creating a life that once put back together you'll wish you were a part of and I want you to be there. 

I'm human and I still need other human connections. 

It's why we're all here, right? 

Puddles or cliffs

There is a shift happening. An ebb and flow. I can feel myself working with my grief and not against it. This harmony transcends the pain. Knowing this has helped me to realize that this is what I'm here for. 
Accepting that we are here to love unconditionally, that our experiences and suffering is not to manipulate and torture us but to make our hearts expand. I am rejecting the negative and humbling myself, this has made me mindful. 
I'm aware. My eyes are wide open. My thoughts influence my words and my words influence my actions. I have the power to decide what will satisfy my soul. 

Just me. 

This is a huge step forward. A friend told me right after Christopher died that 

"I would be amazed at my capabilities. I am a butterfly bursting out of its cocoon." 

That's what this moment feels like. I was a caterpillar, slowly grazing the earth and then after some time passed I built my safe haven in my cocoon. After years of waiting to emerge, here it is. I'm not completely out but the tips of my wings can feel the sun's warmth. 
I know I'm ok.
I'm ok with where this journey is going. What has led me here has been painful and if I were not capable it would have destroyed me.  

It didn't.
It won't.


I love my husband, I always will. In our safe haven he taught me that I am worthy. I am a dreamer. I am strong enough to withstand any obstacle thrown my way. That I am loved, and love back with a fierce intensity. This is why I am where I am. Christopher gave me a life, a chance, an opportunity. I have to jump. 

Powdered sugar gravy

I miss him. I miss him so much and when I realize he isn't coming back it rips me apart all over again. 

I miss being goofy with him. I miss the happiness that we could create in each other with just a few words. I miss feeling joyful when he was excited about something or thought something was funny. 

Just smiling because he was. 

He had the best smile. 

It was genuine. You could feel the happiness radiating off of it. 

I miss rubbing the back of his neck while he drove to help soothe his nerves navigating through traffic. I miss him coming home and proclaiming "your new boyfriend is here" after getting a haircut. I knew the sound of the car driving up, and those boots walking to the front door. I miss feeling my heart flutter because of that sound.

I wish so badly that I could hear that again. 

I miss his atrocious sense of humor. I miss him chasing me around the house with Alexander trying to tickle me. I miss our long walks where we'd talk and dream about our future. 

We solved all the world's problems on those walks. 

I miss the obscene amount of soy sauce bottles in the pantry because he put it on everything. I miss him requesting his own pot of gravy for meals because he would need that much. 

Especially on Thanksgiving. 

I miss his warmth. He was hot natured and put off so much heat which was great for cold nights and so I called him the "furnace". I just want to feel that warmth again. 

I miss him. Every single moment. Every single one. 

I can feel myself getting better. The days keep passing and I'm still here. 

One small step, day after day.

But I miss him. I miss him so much. 

Day 88

The reality that Christopher is dead is weighing heavily on me now. I'm used to not talking to him but it's when I realize that it's been almost 3 months since I last spoke to him I feel that gut punch. I spent 5 hours yesterday in a conference room writing and signing my will. Discussing the most morbid scenarios so I know if something happens to me our kids will be taken care of. 5 hours of death drilling into your skull. 



I read an email last week and was asked to write down a list of my attributes. Reminding myself of the person I was before all of this, and what still remains after. I haven't done it yet.
I'm not good at loving myself. I have always felt like I lacked something that everyone else had. That I was different. I know I'm not a bad person, that I'm actually a pretty damn good one, but the self doubt always finds a way to creep in. 

I've been in therapy for years, my father is/was not the best. He is a narcissist and has been this way since way before I was born. Unable to love anyone beside himself, unable to give to others what has been generously given to him, unable to be the father that I needed. 
In therapy, I discovered that my drive to please others, to do whatever it took to make them happy was because of the relationship I had with him. He holds his love over my head, teasing and toying with me. Giving hope that if I do this, or that, then he would love me. It has always been a conditional love. This lead me to believe that all love was conditional, even the love I have for myself.

It's bogus. It makes no sense. It's a behavior pattern that I have been doing my entire life. 
When you feel like you've been abandoned in your life, repeatedly, it's natural to only want to shun away from connecting with someone. I constantly feel like I have to be in control to keep me from relying on others because I fear they will disappoint me or if I begin to rely on them too much they will disappear. Knowing this has not kept me from doing it to other people though. 
I've caused pain and hurt in people, said things that were vile and rotten just because I knew it would hurt them. I've left relationships, pushed people away, vanished. I've also tried to learn from my mistakes, make amends for my actions, apologize for the pain I caused because I know what that suffering feels like. I know the pain of being rejected. 

Cut out.


Deleted.

Like you never existed at all.

I've made drastic efforts to change this. I owe a lot of that to Christopher, Alexander and Happy. Their unconditional love for me is a constant reminder that I'm worthy of being loved. 
I mess up though. I slip. I fall. I tend to my wounds and get back up. It's survival. I can't fall down the rabbit hole although there are many days I want to. I have more good left inside to give. I remain mindful of that. Mindful that everything is connected. My actions and reactions have a cause and effect.

And affect.

Be thankful for the good. For the moments that are pure joy. 
Use it as a force against my fear of being abandoned by those I let in. Or befriend the monster and accept that it's not going anywhere.  

We need some Kraggle

Quieting the mind is no easy task. The whys, what ifs, hows, should haves they are trying their best to drive me insane. The only solace I can find is while running and the few precious hours I sleep. 
The three of us are no longer sleeping in the same bed, separate rooms even but Happy wakes up screaming and crying, yelling for mommy. 

EVERY MORNING. 

I lost it this morning. I'm not pleasant when I wake up, Christopher was always the cheerful riser. Even after only a few hours of sleep or years of having to wake up at 3 and 4 in the morning, he was always in a good mood. He made waking up easier for me, so I wasn't a grump for long. He would bring me coffee and his first random thoughts of the day. There would be many more to follow.

God.
I miss him.

But this morning after only getting to sleep for 4 hours, I blew up. It hasn't happened often, I would love to scream and hit and be vicious enough to make someone feel this way too. I just can't. I'm not wired that way. I want to be better. 
I want to thrive. I don't want to hate the world. But I don't know how to stop wanting that. 
I'm doing everything I'm supposed to. Therapy, praying, exercising, eating right, trying not to isolate myself, reading, but it doesn't feel like it's doing any damn good. Alexander and I pray at night to find the broken pieces of our hearts so we can start super glueing them back together. 

This is rough. We are in a tough spot, pushing and dragging ourselves along because none of us want to feel this way. 

Christopher. 

He wouldn't want us to feel this way. We have to live up to his legacy. It's our only option, nothing else will do. 




This weekend is our wedding anniversary. I've booked a hotel out of town for my sister and I. Forcing myself to go have some fun. Feeling anxious and guilty about leaving my kids, even if I know they will be fine. Worried about breaking down, not knowing how to cope with the fact that he isn't here with me and we won't be able to celebrate together ever again. But I'm going. I have to. 
And then I'll get to sleep and that may be all that I do. 

Christopher

I went to a grief seminar this past weekend and one of her suggestions was to write you a letter, so here it is. 

I bought a puzzle yesterday. I guess I need to feel like I can put something tangible together because what I'm left with now, this life without you, I can't. 
I despise this. I don't want to live this life without you. I haven't heard your voice in 70 days, until yesterday. I found this old video of you and even though it's 30 seconds long, the kids and I have listened to it over and over and over and over. 

We miss you. Alexander is in so much pain, he's trying to sort all of this out in his 6 year old brain but it's too much. I can't even make sense of it. Happy sees you, and I am fairly certain you two play together daily. Our life wasn't supposed to be like this. We had fought so hard to get to where we were and now I don't know if I have any fight left in me. I feel so defeated. 

What did I do? 
How can I fix this? 
I need to fix this. 

We should be preparing for you coming home. Thrilled that we are going to see you soon.

Go on adventures. Snuggle in the cloud. Be US again. 

This is not us. 
This is not our family. 
We are not a family without you. 

I don't understand and every day my heart breaks.
Over and over and over and over.

I'm scared that I'm going to fail and you'll be disappointed. How fucked up is that? I'm scared of what a dead man is going to think about how I'm living. 
I sob every single night. The memories are torture and all I want is to go back. I want to feel you next to me. I want to hear you and Alexander giggling together. I want you to be here to see them grow up. You'd be so proud of Alexander. Happy is a breath of fresh air.
They keep me sane. They are the greatest gift you could have ever given me. 
I wonder how you'd handle this if it were me that died. Would you be ok or would you be a puddle of despair like me? Tell me what to do. I need you to tell me how I'm going to get through this. Help me get through this.

I love you. I just wish it were enough to bring you back. 

tick tock

Life is incredibly bizarre. Time seems to stand still or zoom by. I'm exhausted. I'm sick of the endless phone calls and paperwork that typically results in "I'm so sorry for your loss, but we will need a death certificate or something else that proves your husband is deceased." 

I am over it. 

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I want. What I do know, this not how I thought my life would turn out. 

I never imagined being a widow at 33.

Forced to start over. 

Raising two kids. 

Alone. 

I never imagined moving back to Mississippi. 

Living with my parents.

Trying to organize and cram what little of our life before into their house because all of our stuff is in some Army storage unit and I have no clue when we will get it again. 

I never imagined that Thursday would be the last time I'd hear him say he loved me. 

Alexander has been asking how Chris died, and tonight I will have to explain to him what's going on. We don't know. He's going to ask questions and I pray I can give him the right answers. Even though I don't have any myself. 

Sidenote- 
If you're reading this because I know people are, there is a handy tool that shows how many people read each post, please don't decide today to ask me what happened or if I've heard anything. 
If you haven't bothered to reach out to me before, please don't bother now. Our life isn't for you to gossip about. 

I'm done with fake. 
I'm done with bullshit. 
I'm done with surface level people. 



I know the fight is alive in me, I know I'll get shit done. I know I'll take care of our kids. I know they will become stellar adults because they are already stellar kids.
I know I'll be a fire you won't be able to put out. 
I just have to get there. 
It'll happen, I just have to figure out which map to choose. 

And this is why I'm not okay

Panic ensues. I have started pacing like I did that day. Numb. Depleted. Nothing, just terror but not the type depicted in movies, this terror is silent. It is so many emotions at once that I am in overdrive but my body doesn't know how to react, I don't know how to react. So I pace. 
This can't happen. I need to go to the grocery store. Our kids need to eat something other than soup, applesauce or whatever is convenient. I put a shirt that has blue paint on it from when Christopher and I painted the kitchen in our Colorado home. It's comforting but almost burns when I put it on. It's the searing reminder that this is what I'm left with. An old shirt with blue paint on the front, like the "Scarlett Letter" but instead of an A it's a W. 

Our wedding anniversary is in 19 days, he wouldn't have been home but the best gift/date was that it was the mark of the "final countdown". He would be home in two weeks. This is not what set me off though, it's when I started reading our text messages. 
Damnit.
On the Tuesday before, we were texting that morning and I told him about the awful dreams I had the night before. 

This is where it goes downhill. 

I remember the dream. It was the last one I had before Friday, I've just recently started dreaming again, but this one, this damn premonition, this was my warning sign. I should have known what was coming my way. 
Blood, pain, frightening images. Chris had died in the dream and it was so real that I cried in my sleep. I woke up in the middle of it, realized it was just a dream but went straight back into REM hell. It wasn't long, it wasn't detailed, it was just so much heartbreak and so much anguish that it destroyed me that night. And now, still destroying me.

I am a spiritual person. I believe in signs, omens, signals. I should have known that this wasn't just any normal dream. I knew. I was trying to prepare myself. I just didn't realize that one can never prepare for something like this. I also know that I could not have prevented this but.

There is always that but. 

I know it's insane of me to think that I sensed something was going to happen but insane things have happened in the past two months that make me think, maybe I'm not that crazy? 

Christopher always said that 

"maybe we're the normal ones and everyone else is insane?"  

I'm not pacing anymore. Typing it, putting words down, sending this somewhere else for now, I think I'll make it to the grocery store today. 

I have to feed these kids. 

Where you will breakdown

In the car, driving your kids and when your two year old is riding with someone else and they bend near the steering wheel, said two year old will tell them not to cry. Apparently, this is where I breakdown a lot. 

In the shower/bathtub, you're relaxed or have two minutes alone to think because shampooing and sudsing up doesn't require much thought. 

During mass, during the fist reading, homily or when you speak to Father Such and Such afterwards. Like, ugly, spastic crying. It's not pleasant. 

In the morning, drinking coffee because this is the time you think, "Great, it's another day I get to be me!"

In bed before you fall asleep, every single night. Alone or with your 6 year old because you haven't slept apart (or in a different bed) from your kids since you had to go to Dover to retrieve your husband's body. Every damn night. 

Sobbing is an understatement. Can't breathe, the tears have run out but you're still crying. The water I drink only replenishes the tears. 

We are going to a friend's beach house this weekend, it's magical and we need a little magic right now because all of the above can be expected. 

The G word

Guilt. You feel it. It covers you like poison ivy. You scratch at the what if's, the if I had done this, or that, or anything different, then maybe. They tell you not to use the word guilt. They being the people who have been deemed experts on grief. They say that it isn't healthy, you should use the term regret instead because this allows you to learn from your mistakes instead of feeling like you had some sort of control over what happened. 

At first I sat in a baby pool full of guilt. 

Chris had high blood pressure and should not have deployed. He loved salt, had an intense job that caused a lot more stress than most and he used "worm dirt" (dip, chewing tobacco, gross)and this caused him to be non-deployable a few months before they were set to head out. He fought and schemed on how to get it lower, he started eating right, running more, less nicotine. I helped him, I rooted for him, I did everything I could to get him to his goal. Deploy with his guys. He finally got it low enough and they signed off on his deployment status, from a no to a go and that was that. Until the day he died. When I was able to start thinking again, I felt immense guilt. I did this. I helped him get deployed and if he hadn't gone over there he would be alive. A big ol' buffet of guilt all for me. 

How sweet.

I had to get his body from Dover, Maryland and I told the chaplain at the Fisher House about this guilt I felt. He said, "You were being a good wife, there is nothing to feel guilty about. What if you hadn't helped him? That could have put a strain on your relationship, he may have resented you for his non-deployable status. What then?" 

Perspective is a beautiful thing. 

I haven't felt guilty about that since, their have been other things but I've been able to see "the bigger picture". I've realized it's incredibly vain of me to think that I had control over someone's life. I dislike egos just as much as guilt, especially if it's my own. So for now, this is working and I'll keep my perspective goggles handy for moments that will surely arise and the guilt tries to sneak out and take control. 

The last time we spoke

We talked about school supplies, Alexander was about to begin first grade and even deployed you wanted to participate in every event happening at home. 
It was a normal conversation, you had just bought giant chocolate bar and were ecstatic about your find. I had a garden club meeting that night and you offered to type up the notes I needed so I could focus on other things. It was just another day and you were fine. Healthy, happy, loving and alive. 
I wouldn't change our conversation. I would be willing to have the same conversation over and over and over again. Just to hear your voice. Just to see you smile. Just to hear you say that you love me. Just anything. 

Happy started a part time preschool program today and she was stellar. She had the best time, made friends, arts and crafts. When I picked her up, I told her how proud I was and that I loved her. That Daddy loved her and she said "Daddy's proud too." 
Yes, my love, he is so proud of you. He will always be proud of you.   

I signed up for a grief seminar, hoping it will give me some answers on how I'm supposed to keep going. Every day I wake up, and every day you're still gone. I fight back tears (or ugly cry) when people tell me "hello" but can mumble a "thank you" when they say "I'm so sorry for your loss." I hate that sentence. And while we're at it, I hate "be strong". Well, no shit. Strength is not something I am lacking. I have been strong. The moment you left for this deployment I was strong. The moment I found out you had died, I've been strong. I do not need to be told that anymore. I'm sure it will be said, that seems to be the only thing people know to say. "I'm sorry for your loss, you have to be strong." Okay, well when your husband dies and you have two children under the age of 6 please, please let me know how it works out when people say that to you. I'm sure you'll do the same as me, thank them (why am I thanking them?????) and politely decline any further conversation. 
I enjoy being alone, I've never had any issues with being by myself. This is just a new type of alone, complete isolation. I'm stranded on an island. Those who float by typically paddle as fast as they possibly can to get away from this island. While I'm still here, waiting for someone to rescue me. Waiting for someone to paddle full force towards me, screw a life ring, they're coming on this island to save me. 

Meanwhile, I wait. I've pressed pause, praying to be rescued. 

Insert Feelings Here

Everyone dies. It's a fact. No one is safe from its grasp or the aftermath it leaves behind. Yet, we fear the inevitable and have no clue on how to deal with the emotions it burdens us with. Rationalizing death does not work. My mind understands the science but my heart has no idea on how to deal with the rest. Trying to explain this to children is nearly impossible and a harsh, cruel subject matter to burden them with. 

My son's heart is broken. 
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Bits and pieces that remain are still breaking. He's convinced himself that this is just "a nightmare, one day we will wake up and Daddy will still be here". I feel the same way and wish with every ounce of my being that it is just that, a nightmare. My mind knows better. 

I am just here, holding them tightly, praying that one day we will find some super glue to turn all this broken into something. 

Day 53

Honestly, I have no clue what I'm doing or what to say. Right now I feel as though I'm just coasting, doing what I'm supposed to, pretending like I can move on from this when I don't really think I can. 
He's gone, and I'm shattered. I miss him and need him to tell me how I'm going to survive this without him. Survival. That's what it feels like right now. I'm doing what I have to do so I can survive. 

Breathing. Sleeping. Water. Food. 

Those are vital, everything else is everything else. 
53 days. How many more? 
Why do we do this to ourselves? Implant someone into our lives that when they die it's unbearable. Sadists? It's torture. A slow, ongoing, festering type that makes you want to crawl inside a hollow shell and never return. But you do. 

Breathing. Sleeping. Water. Food. 

Death is everything and it's nothing. The emotions that ravage you are all consuming and that makes you numb. Death makes you desperate. Empty. 
Death can turn simple thoughts into a pain you'd never imagine, until you're caught in it's trap. Weaving in and out of you, every inch of your body. Death is poison. And it never stops. It will seep into my body every day until I stop breathing. I'm sleeping forever. And I no longer need water and food. 
Death and I will become best friends, it's learning everything about me, why shouldn't I get to know it?