I don't smile like I did before

Sundays were my favorite day of the week. I would wake up, peek over and he was already awake staring back or up, cooking breakfast, beginning the one day we cherished. There weren't any interruptions on Sundays. Our day to recharge from the week, to spend as much time as we possibly could doing what we loved. At the top of that list was just being together. I can taste it. I can see him standing there, I can smell him. And then it's gone and I'm racing trying to remember every detail, every line on his face, every eye lash that protected his spirit. The spirit that is aligned with mine. 

I'm having to redefine my Sundays. And every other day in between. 

I can write all of this down, desperate for someone to understand but until your life has been interrupted abruptly, completely ripped at the seams and everything you are, everything you hoped for and dreamed of is just sprawled out in the streets exposed. 

Run over by the rat race. Damaged. Raw. 

Nerve endings that you don't think will ever heal. 

I'm not talking about a hurt that goes away either. It's not like I stubbed my toe. This pain. This solitude. This crushing weight of reality. I can't describe that type of pain to you. You have to feel it. From what I've gathered, numbing the pain is easier, I can't do that though. I've tried. I've tried to run away from this, it's not going anywhere. I end up right where I began so I have to find a way to face this. To live with the pain, learn how to silence it when necessary and let it roar when the time is right. This Sunday it's thunderous. I'm allowing it, not without a little preparation for the next time it comes around. The theme this week and since I've come out of the fog has been defining who I am. What I want out of this. Small steps. 

Sundays are for peace.

Sundays are for smiling until you finally see a glimpse of yourself.

Sundays are for dogs.

Sundays are for yoga and walks.

Sundays are for sunshine and swimming pools.

Sundays are for cold, dreary weather.

Sundays are for hot tea and bonfires.

Sundays are for board games.

Sundays are for endless giggles.

Sundays are for donuts or long, drawn out brunches. 

Sundays are for freezing moments so you don't, won't forget. 

Sundays are for woods, and letting you know your aren't alone.

Sundays are for family, and not always with the ones who share your DNA. 

Sundays are for Stevie Wonder.

Sundays are for wonder.

Sundays are for wander.

Sundays are for enchantment.

Sundays are for Lindsey.

Sundays are for remembrance. 

Sundays are for love.

My days are never the same. I will never be the same. Adjusting to this is challenging and some days I feel like I'm coasting. I don't know what I want, who I want, how I want. I ask myself these questions all the time, the only answer I can come up with is travel. Chris and I travelled all the time. Together and separate, we would joke that our "seven year itch" was our nomadic spirit calling, time to move. Time to shake a leg. I hear you. 

I hear you and I'm listening. 

First stop is Disney World as soon as school gets out. The kids have no idea and I can't wait to see their astonished little faces. 

Sundays are for surprises.

Excuse me, your human is showing

Rain. 

It's always nice when you're having a down day and the weather decides to cooperate. 

I'm getting impatient.
When this happens I try to meditate and remind myself to be in the moment. This is not always so easy to do. I'm scared that, what if it's all bullshit? What if I'm doing all this work, checking all these boxes, doing the right thing, the right way and guess what? 
It doesn't matter. 
Yeah, I made well out of a situation that most can't see themselves overcoming, but from what I've noticed, most people can. They are capable and the amount of them doing well after suffering a major blow, it's inspiring but reminds me that it's just life. 
We make what we want of it, but at the same time what's it all for? Will we truly understand our struggles and adversities when it's all said and done? Are we here to ask these questions so our lives are more purposeful and we behave more meaningful towards one another? 

I don't know. 

I do know that kindness matters. I do know that people respond to a gentle hand. A warm meal, a smile, a reminder that they are a part of your meaningful life. 

I talk in circles, trying to figure it all out and really it just boils down to this. 

I don't know who I am anymore.

I look at pictures and they are just dreams. Beautiful dreams that I thought were going to be my forever. 

And then reality. 
And then life. 
And I can't dream anymore.

If I could live in that dream world, just once more. 
What would I do? Who would I be? Would it matter in the end? 

This is why I'm impatient. It has to matter. 
My life here, my daily existence, my pain, it all has to matter. 

Otherwise, I'm just floating. 

"What life is, we know not. What life does, we know well." 
Lord Perceval

Perks of being a widow

*Disclaimer: For full effect, listen to: 

Toulouse, I Will Follow You. 

(then just shuffle)

Now on with the show!

I'm young.

I can love again.

There are more hours in the day, because I don't sleep.

It' 12:44am and counting.

I'm not tired. I'm consumed.

Our boy turned 7 yesterday. 

If you are our friend, then you know this story. If you're our friend, you're reading this now so I'll share the love. 

Christopher was deployed in Afghanistan 2010, he was able to come home for Alexander's birth on his 14 day escape. His shovel to the face reality. His Mr. Hyde. I had no clue what I was doing. I was just in love. In love with a man that I truly believe hung the moon and stars in this world I exist in and I was having his baby. It was the ultimate. Insert Gidget swooning over Moon Doggie. It wasn't perfect but it was. He was coming home and our first love was coming into the world. I had a wonderful obstetrician who understood the sensitivity of having a deployment baby. Flexible schedule. Volcano ash. She was a gem. After actual volcano ash, he was home. 

I was home. 

We had a blissful week. 

Oceans.

Food. 

Decadence. 

Love.

Fear.

Family.

Joy.

Sacrifice. 

All that sacrifice. 

Those moments lost in time, equivalent to just yesterday. 

April 30th, when a star exploded and Alexander appeared. 

Before Chris died he made Alexander and I Calvin and Hobbes tshirts. Alexander's said 

"you can't take the sky from me" 

Now you get it. 

Alexander the Great was born on the evening of April 30, 2010. 

• Mother: Lindsey Wilbur
• Father: Christopher Wilbur 

Promisers of loving you forever and ever and ever and ever to infinity through a black hole and back. 

I was induced so we could adhere to the schedule of war and Alexander didn't progress like he should have so I had him via caesarean. 

Morphine induced coma and exhaustion from labor, I was gone. 

He had just come home from a nightmare. Exhausted, broken, unsure of what really, REALLY mattered in this big ol world. He sat by my side. Relentless, kind, gentle, effortless. 

I moved, he was up and at em'. The drug robot beeped he pushed the button to make it shut up. 

Then we went back to our house and he was just as dutiful. Just as loving, just as beautiful as a father can be in those awkward, scary moments. Loving his wife and his new baby, no clue what he's doing but trying his absolute best and it oozing out of every ounce of him. 

Pure love. 

Pure love. 

Pure love. 

Honest. Resounding. Everlasting. 

That man was mine and we did that and days like today, my heart breaks because he's not next to me. 

I wish I had the morphine drip so the tears would stop. 

I can survive this. 

The tears won't last forever.

You can't take the sky from me. 

I have to

I make people uncomfortable. 

As honest and open as I am here, I'm the same in person and that makes people cringe. Not everyone but I have a pretty good knack at reading people, observing their behavior and mannerisms, noting when they are queasy after they've digested a bit of my reality. 
This habit (gift) especially picked up after Christopher died. The majority of people I have encountered in the past 8 months have been strangers, acquaintances, people I haven't seen or spoken to in years beyond the realms of social media. In these meetings, it goes one of two ways, we are an instant connection or we aren't. 

To the ones that I have made uncomfortable or uneasy, I'm sorry. 
I know I'm intense. 

My life is intense.

I say things without regret, and I try to live my life this way now. I'm sorry my pain and hurt is worn with ease. I've grown accustom to this hurt and instead of wearing it as a hooded cloak, I wear it as a cape. 
You see, I want my two children to know that their pain, their agony is not to be determined by your comfort level. I want you to know that one day you're going to experience this level of pain and that you can still live a beautiful life. Side by side. Pain and joy. They can exist together. 
That one day you may be just as intense as I am. It can happen in an instant. I don't say these things out of malice or ill will. 
I was abruptly reminded of how quickly life can turn a corner and want to share my journey so if you ever go down this path, you'll meet a kind, friendly face. 
Actually, you'll meet multiple friendly faces. 

This is what I do know to be true. 

Our paths won't be the same, similar but never identical. The hurt, the pain, the longing, the intense, overwhelming sadness that you thought you were immune to. That will be the same. 
It comes, it goes but it will always be there. The quotes, the mantras, the books, the glimpses of grief that have been shared, it is all true. 

Wear it proudly. 

No shame or regret, after all "where there is deep grief, there was deep love" and as uncomfortable as that makes some, I will never stop speaking or sharing my deep love. It is vast and wide and we've only skimmed the surface. 

My human experience

The house is quiet. 
One noise maker is at school and the other is still asleep, dreaming. 
In these quiet moments my mind races from one thought to another. 

Daily tasks. 
Did you text/call this person back? 
Is the laundry ready for baseball? 
I need to call someone about life insurance. 
How the hell am I going to keep this up? 
I'm a failure. 
No, you're strong. 
It hurts so much. 
I know. 

What did I think about in these moments before this life began? I can't remember. It is as if that life, that person, never existed at all. Just memories, what I would give to go back to just one of those memories. I search for answers, for any resolution for the gaping hole inside me. Someone has to have an answer. 
God? Buddha? Aristotle? Merriam-Webster? 

The Roman philosopher Seneca said 

"Therefore it is better to conquer our grief than to deceive it."

I read these words, ask myself how and the answer just comes. 

By living. 

I am only in control of my thoughts, actions, behavior. Trying to control or understand the rest is just futile and can drive one mad. 


"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience."

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Life is painful. Life is beautiful. 
A gamble we take daily. 
Yes or no, right or left, blue or red. 

I don't know if your answer will satisfy my question. Maybe, I'm not asking the right question. Or maybe I'm just meant to live the rest of my life with a piece of me missing. That's what Christopher was. He is a part of me and I him. I feel selfish for wanting him back because I know that some people will never love like that.
Be embraced, cherished, connected with someone that was made for them. Call it cliche, call it what you want but unless you've truly loved someone, it won't make sense. 
Everyone has heard "home is where the heart is" and I guess I feel so lost because I'm homeless now. My heart resides in Christopher, it won't be whole till we're together again. 

I will keep living though. Choosing to be a light and not succumbing to the darkness. I want to be blinding, not a shadow. 

You'll heal over time.

"Time is relative; it's only worth depends 

upon what we do as it is passing."

Alber Einstein

250 days later

I spend a lot of the day thinking about time. After death, the world keeps spinning. Appointments have to be kept, stores open and close, hour upon hour, seconds clicking along and thrusting into minute after minute. I'm frozen. The world I used to exist and function in now looks like an alien kaleidoscope. Don't get me wrong, I'm managing. I just no longer understand the purpose, or can pretend to. 

I'm lost in what I call the in between 

I'm still here, physically present and accounted for but my mind, I'm trying to figure out where it's gone. I haven't lost it (thank you very much) but a doorway has been opened. As I sit and type these words, it seems crazy, crazy that I'm even entertaining thoughts like these. 

But here we are. 

Here I am. 

Where is Christopher?

The doorway that has opened hasn't given me any answers, yet. There is a synchronicity that has been occurring over the past months though. Numbers, words, animals, but mostly numbers. When it starts it is slow but then it's all I see. 

11:11

2:22 

4:44

5:55

10:10 

Blaring silently, notice me. Something is happening and you need to pay attention!!!

I'm paying attention. 

We tend to fear things we don't understand. I'm no longer afraid of many things, so I'm focusing on having an open mind and heart. Allowing myself to be open to the possibilities of what I can't explain, going along with it, unorthodox and proud. 

And so it is

I am continuing to evolve. Every day is a new thought, a new process. My life isn't as dismal, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. There are lights all over.

The journey. 

That is what I'm focusing on. When you start to focus on the now instead of the past, the here instead of what could be. Who do I want to be today? What can I do to make that happen? Is it kind? Will it make my future, my tiny people, will it make their futures better? 

It is time. It is time to explain some things that have been held inside me, so tightly wound, I think I may explode. Christopher made a choice in his death. Call it what you want. The army isn't calling it what society does. 
The choice he made that day, the decision, the hurt, altered everything. Changed everything. One choice after a lifetime of pain. I was mad, some days, I'm still angry. I have read and deciphered every message, email, every word that would lead me to some answer as to why? Why would he, how could he? Why us? Depression, trauma, a  pain so deep that he only saw one way out. He only had one answer. His choice was that life for us would be easier this way. 
Without him. 

He was wrong. I swallow this truth every day. 
My life is now a testament to his. A testament to our children, because one day, they aren't going to understand. 
I hope that I can guide them, show them that even through tragedy, even though people make bad choices, it doesn't sum up our existence. That their father was more than his last decision. He fell down the rabbit hole and it was too much. My wish is that by my words and my actions, I can teach them a level of empathy that I'm only beginning to understand myself. 
This is what life is, a string of lessons, ultimately leading us to our own truth. My husband's life on this planet may be over but his impact on those who loved him, on those who encountered him, he can live forever. 

Love is all that matters. 

I'll continue on.